


What do Nineteen-month-olds Eat?!?

by nutmeag83



Series: In the Family Way [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Co-Parents to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Reichenbach, but not rosie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Sherlock and John's world is flipped when they find themselves raising twins. John is annoyed that people think he'll leave, Sherlock is fascinated by the tiny humans in their home, and everyone else just goes along with it. The new dynamic leaves both John and Sherlock readjusting their views on their relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen an uptick in post-Reichenbach fics since S4 ended. I figured I might as well add mine to the pile. Please note that I know absolutely nothing about British (or any; hah!) adoption laws/processes. And I doubt Sherlock could have made the stipulations he did with his donation, but it suits my story, so leave your disbelief at the door. Wibbly-wobbly, yo.
> 
> It's all written, but I need to finish editing. I should have the final chapters up in the next day or two.
> 
> Not betaed or Brit-picked.

John was confused.

Beyond some muttering coming from the sofa (and Sherlock on it), the afternoon had been quiet. Then Sherlock’s mobile had rung. There had been very little to the conversation, mostly yeses, noes, and a few of courses from the detective. He had finally ended the call, stared above John’s head at the mantle for a few minutes, uttered “I need to go to the shops,” grabbed his coat, and headed out the door.

Going over the events again did nothing to help John parse the situation, so he was glad to see Sherlock’s name (and a hilarious picture of him covered in mud and rotten vegetables) flashing across the phone’s screen. Though it was strange. Sherlock never rang when he could text. John answered quickly, hoping his friend wasn’t in trouble.

“Sherlock?”

“John.”

John paused a moment in confusion. Even less likely than an actual phone call from Sherlock was him not jumping straight into a conversation when he wanted something.

“Alright?” John asked cautiously.

“John.” This time, John noted a hint of distress in Sherlock’s voice. “I don’t…I’m not…I….”

John stood, going for his coat. “What is it, Sherlock? Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t know…”

John froze halfway out the door. Sherlock never _didn’t know_. Had he been drugged? Hit over the head? John tried to keep his voice calm. “Sherlock. Where are you?”

“I…”

“Sherlock! Tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you. But I can’t help you until you tell me where to go, okay?”

John heard a shuddering breath. “Tesco.”

John let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Sherlock was with people, so he was likely safe unless the store was being held up or he was out back in the alley. He was also cogent enough to say where he was.

“Okay. Good. I’ll be there in a few minutes, yeah? Can you stay where you are until I get there?” He’d take a cab. It was a quick walk, but he needed to be there sooner than quick. He was down the stairs and out the door before Sherlock spoke again.

“John.”

“Sherlock, are you hurt?”

“What? No. I just don’t know what…”

John didn’t even know how to react to Sherlock repeatedly admitting he didn’t know something. Who the hell had called him?

Within five minutes, John was rushing through the doors of the neighborhood grocery store, eyes scanning the shoppers, looking for Sherlock. Not seeing him near the entrance, John began walking down the main aisle, glancing between the rows in search of his friend. He finally found the man standing in the baby food aisle, staring blankly at jars of pureed fruit, basket held loosely in one dangling hand, mobile clutched in the other.

“Sherlock! What the—“

“I don’t know, John,” Sherlock said, not glancing at John. “I should have researched first, but there isn’t time.” He turned panicked eyes imploringly to John. “What do nineteen-month-olds eat?!?”

John stared open-mouthed for a moment before taking a breath and going into “calm Sherlock” mode. “First of all, you’re going to tell me what that damned phone call was about. Then you’re going to explain why you need to know the eating habits of toddlers and why it has you almost as freaked out as a bomb strapped to my chest did.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at John’s comparison, but whether it was at John mentioning The Pool at all or the fact that John could read Sherlock’s face so well after four years of friendship, John didn’t bother to suss out.

Sherlock let John’s comment pass, though, and his face morphed back into panic. “I… there was…  children…accident… they have nowhere to go.”

John tried to deconstruct the sentence before questioning Sherlock further. This was apparently not a time to be an idiot. Sherlock needed help, and John would do whatever he could to aid his best friend, the man he loved more than life itself.

“Okay,” he began, taking the basket from Sherlock’s loose grip. “So there are children who have nowhere to go because of an accident, I’m guessing involving their guardians. Why are you the point of contact for this situation? Who are these children? Why do you need to feed them?” He tried not to let the questions overwhelm either his brain or a panicked Sherlock. One step at a time.

Apparently questioning was the correct first step. Sherlock’s face cleared a bit. “I…” His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before continuing. “When I realized I would need to… die…”

John winced, still not comfortable with remembering The Fall that had taken his best friend away for a year. It had been a trying time for John, who had spent the period pushing away anyone who tried to get close to him. He had focused on work to avoid the grief, not even keeping in touch with Mrs. Hudson or Greg.

He had finally been coaxed a bit back into a normal existence by work and life when Sherlock had come barreling back into John’s life, showing up at his flat late one night with a grin and his usual dramatic flair. John had punched his jerk of a friend, then hugged him, then punched him again, then yelled at him for the next hour, then stormed out, bought a six-pack of beer, and proceeded to get fabulously drunk while Sherlock had watched half in amusement and half in concern. Over the next few months, they had settled back into routine, with John finally returning to Baker Street and rejoining Sherlock on his adventures in crime solving, much to the relief of New Scotland Yard, who no longer knew how to deal with Sherlock without John around.

Things had been back to pre-Fall normal for a year now, but John still preferred not to think about what his friend had done and why he’d had to do it. He was mostly at peace with Sherlock’s reasons for lying and disappearing for a year, but he still didn’t like to dwell on it. But knowing he wouldn’t get the story out of his friend unless he listened, he tried not to tense and instead focused on Sherlock’s story.

“Yes, go on,” he prompted.

Sherlock gave a small nod and started again. “When I knew I would be…away for a while, and that the mission I had to complete was more dangerous than we were used to….” John snorted here. Their life was plenty dangerous, but he understood what Sherlock was getting at. His time dismantling Moriarty’s web had not been easy or safe, that was for sure.

With a minute glare, Sherlock continued. “It forced me to face my mortality for the first time since The Pool. I… realized I might possibly die for real, and I didn’t like the idea of not leaving a legacy behind.”

John couldn’t help his “But you’ve done so much—“

“Not what I meant, John,” Sherlock interrupted. “I have never been…given to relationships, but I realized the value in passing my superior genes on to future generations—“

John began putting the pieces together and interrupted yet again. “Oh my God, did you have a one-night stand and impregnate someone?” John felt horror and unease rise up in equal measure. Horror at the idea of _Sherlock_ of all people trying to woo a woman (“not given to relationships” was definitely an understatement, not to mention his claim that women were “not really my area”) and unease at the idea of Sherlock with anyone. Sherlock didn’t need anyone besides John. He didn’t have friends. He just had the one. Just John (well, okay, Sherlock had finally added a few others onto the list, but John was still his best and closest friend). The arrangement satisfied them both, and John didn’t like the idea of changing it. Though, he would have thought a woman would’ve come up somewhere in the conversation in the months since Sherlock’s return if Sherlock had managed a one-night stand that had resulted in children.

He was torn from his racing thoughts when Sherlock snorted. “Of course not, John. At least not in the traditional sense. I donated sperm to a fertility clinic.”

Something in John relaxed a little. Yes, that was definitely more Sherlock’s style. He brought his mind back to the conversation at hand. “Right. So, someone got knocked up with your sperm, had a baby, and now there’s been an accident? I still don’t understand why you were contacted about this and what it has to do with baby food.”

Sherlock gave John his “do keep up, John” expression. John was happy to endure any of Sherlock’s condescending looks if it meant getting rid of the panicked glint in his eyes.

“I made several stipulations with the donation, including being kept up-to-date with my progeny’s development. Though difficult during… my time away,” Sherlock’s eyes shifted a bit, knowing how little John liked the reminder, “I have kept in touch, anonymously, with the mother of the children. She was apparently killed in a car accident, along with the couple she named as guardians in the event of her death, and, with no other family or close friends, she stipulated that I become temporary guardian until a proper home could be found for the children.”

John took a moment to process all of this while Sherlock stood uncomfortably next to him, the panicked look returning. At least now John knew the reason for the look, and he felt Sherlock’s reaction was appropriate. Who on earth would give _Sherlock_ even temporary guardianship of _children_? The very idea made John want to laugh hysterically and find somewhere to hide. Sherlock must have come off as more sane in the letters or emails, or however he had communicated with the mother, than he did in person, because there was no other explanation.

He didn’t have time to think of the whys and hows, though. Apparently there was a child coming to stay at Baker Street very soon. Wait, Sherlock had said…

“Just how many children are we talking about here?” he demanded, causing Sherlock to jerk his head back from where it had been staring blankly at the food jars again.

“Twins,” Sherlock managed. “One male, one female.”

“Of course. Even your sperm is extraordinary,” John replied dryly.

Sherlock looked torn between pride and indignation. Being Sherlock, he settled on a smirk, but said “In vitro fertilization has a higher than average chance of producing multiple children. Twins and even triplets are not uncommon.”

“Right. So, twins. In our flat.” John’s mind buzzed, trying to figure out the logistics. Where they would sleep, how much cleaning he’d have to do to make the kitchen safe for actual food preparation and storage, how many baby gates they’d need to keep the children from tumbling down or crawling up stairs. It was going to be a lot of effort and probably money spent for just a temporary placement. Wait.

“How long are they staying?”

Sherlock’s face went apprehensive. Also not a common expression for the man. Today was full of rarities. “Not long. A month, maybe two. The social worker just needs time to find and vet adoptive parents for the children. They are young, which helps, but twins are harder to place than single children. I’ll pay for a temporary flat for you, since it’s my fault you’ll be put out. I’ll also need to buy things for the children. And food. God, what kind of food do they eat? Can they dress themselves? No, the mother said are only just walking and saying their first words. Which means they probably can’t bathe themselves either. Oh, and nappies…John…” The panicked look was full blown now.

John put a calming hand on Sherlock’s arm. “Hey, hey. First of all, why am I being kicked out of my own home? Second, I’m a doctor in a clinic, so I’ve seen my fair share of toddlers, which means I can help you out with what children can and cannot do at nineteen months. And what I don’t know, Google does. We’ll figure this out.”

“But the children. They will be a disruption.”

John raised an eyebrow. As if the man in front of him hadn’t been disrupting his life from the moment John first walked through Baker Street’s front door. “I’m kind of used to that, what with you around.”

“But, you didn’t sign up for this. You wanted adventure and criminals and murder.”

“I’m pretty sure taking care of children is pretty adventurous. And I didn’t specifically sign up for criminals and murder. I signed up for the crazy life you lead. And if that includes children for a couple of months, well, then that’s just a normal day for us, isn’t it?”

Sherlock stared at him in shock, wonder, and something else John couldn’t read. “You would do this for me? Let children that aren’t yours or your choice live in your home, disrupt your life…”

John shrugged. “What are best friends for?”

“The list, I’m still learning, is endless,” Sherlock said faintly.

The words both warmed and saddened John. He was glad he could be a friend to Sherlock. The man had been so lonely for so long. He might be difficult and annoying and rude, but some of that covered up loneliness and insecurity.

John smiled at his best friend. “Food then?” He brought them back to their current location. “That’s the reason we’re standing in the baby food aisle at Tesco, yeah? When are they arriving?”

Sherlock’s face cleared of emotion. “Yes. They will be at the flat in…” he held up his phone to look at the time, “two hours. The woman on the phone said I—we—“ Sherlock glanced quickly at John before continuing, “would be provided with overnight bags with clothing and nappies, but not food. We will be able to meet up with a coworker of the mother’s tomorrow at the children’s home to pick up anything further we might need to house the children.”

John frowned. “Do you know their names? We can’t keep calling them ‘the children’ or ‘the twins.’ How about the mother’s name?” He turned to the shelves, scanning his memory for what he knew about an eighteen-month-old’s diet.

“Ian and Wilhemina, though the mother called them I and M in her reports, so I assume the female goes by Mina.”

“She’s a girl, Sherlock, not a female.”

“But female is her sex,” Sherlock protested.

“It’s also clinical. When people ask parents the sex of their child, they say ‘boy’ or ‘girl,’ not ‘male’ or ‘female.’”

“Semantics,” Sherlock huffed, coming to stand directly behind John, peering over his shoulder.

John had long ago grown used to Sherlock’s disregard for personal space, so he just rolled his eyes at the argument and went back to thinking about food.

“Children are well into solid foods by nineteen months, but we should probably get some snacks specific for their age, just in case they’re picky eaters.” He began piling PediaSure, squeeze snack packs, and cereal in the basket before heading out of the aisle. “Now to grab some produce, juice, milk…that should do us until we know more about their diets.” John came to an abrupt stop when he had a thought, Sherlock slamming into him from behind. John turned around and stared at Sherlock with narrowed eyes. “Just so we’re clear. These children are yours. They are _your_ responsibility. You will not be pawning all of the chores off onto me or skiving off of their care to go solve cases for the Yard, got it? You will help bathe them, clothe them, feed them, and watch over them.” Sherlock opened his mouth, but John cut him off. “I will _help_ you, yes, especially teaching you what to do, but I _do_ have a job. Not to mention, I’m not the one who decided I needed progeny in case of death.”

Sherlock closed his mouth. He stared at John for a few moments, but looked properly chastened. “Of course.”

John nodded before turning around and leading his detective to finish their shopping. He almost missed the quiet “Thank you, John” as he hurried down the aisles, but slowed down to let Sherlock walk beside him. He gave his friend a sideways glance and a smile. “’Course.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns that England has a queen, the children arrive, and everyone gets acquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to hoping my knowledge of children isn't too far off. I did do some research, and I used to baby-sit. That's good enough, right?

Just under two hours later, they had managed to finish shopping, get it home and put it away, remove anything harmful from toddler level, and even hoover the carpet. The doorbell rang just as John scanned the living room a final time, and Mrs. Hudson’s voice carried up the stairs. John had a sinking feeling as he realized they hadn’t let their landlady know they’d be having two extra (rather tiny) residents at 221 Baker Street for the next month or so.

Sherlock apparently had the same thought as John, because they looked at each other and said “Mrs. Hudson” with weary apprehension. Sherlock dashed out the door and down the stairs, John right behind him.

John heard Mrs. Hudson’s confused, “You’re not a client?” just as he reached the foyer.

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock began. “I believe I have failed to inform you that we will have a few guests staying with us for a month or two. My apologies.”

John raised his eyebrows at that. They’d barely arrived, and yet the children were already changing Sherlock. He could get used to this.

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock, then at the man and woman each carrying a child, then back at Sherlock again, before her eyes settled on the children themselves. It was pretty obvious that the children shared Sherlock’s genes. The boy had Sherlock’s dark hair (though it was straight), light, color-changing eyes, and cupid’s bow mouth, while the girl shared Sherlock’s curly (though blond) hair, nose, and intelligent expression. It was a bit disconcerting to see, but John tore his gaze away to look at their shocked landlady.

“Oh, Sherlock, what have you done?” she muttered.

“Umm, we’ll explain later, Mrs. Hudson,” John said. “Sherlock.” When John had caught his eye, he nodded his head toward the four people in the entryway of the house.

“Yes.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I am Sherlock Holmes.” He looked at the woman. “I spoke with you on the phone.”

The woman nodded. “I’m Olivia Lane, and this is Frederick Styles. And these two are Wilhemina and Ian,” she said, nodding to the children.

“Obviously,” Sherlock muttered with an eye roll.

“Won’t you come up to the flat?” John cut in, elbowing his friend in the side.

“And you are?” Olivia asked, eyes narrowing a bit and refusing to move from her place inside the front door.

“John is my partner. He’s a doctor. The children couldn’t be safer than with the King himself,” Sherlock replied, and John sighed internally. He knew Sherlock didn’t mean ‘partner’ the way it would be taken, but John didn’t feel like arguing the point right then. They had bigger things to deal with. It wasn’t as if everyone didn’t think they were a couple anyway.

“We’ve got a queen, not a king,” John muttered to Sherlock before waving to the stairs and smiling at their guests. “Right this way.”

They trooped up the stairs and settled into the living room, John going to make tea while Frederick and Olivia began explaining things. It was pretty much what Sherlock had already said. Emilia Thompson, the children’s mother, had been killed in a car accident that also took the lives of her two best friends. Emilia was apparently somewhat isolated, and, thus, had no other friends or family to take in the children. Her will stated that Sherlock would be granted temporary guardianship until a permanent home could be found for the twins or until Sherlock decided to adopt the children himself. Placing the children would likely take between one and six months, during which time Olivia would make monthly visits to the flat to check on the living situation and the children themselves.

In less time than John was comfortable with, Olivia and Frederick left John and Sherlock with two confused toddlers, one duffle, and a stack of papers to go through. The two men stared at each other wordlessly for a moment after John returned upstairs from seeing the social workers to the door, before they were distracted by a whimper.

Both children were sitting on a blanket on the floor, and Ian’s eyes were filled with tears. “Mummy?” he asked, casting his eyes about the room. The children had been in government custody for the past week, until the will had been released, but John could see how further upheaval had Ian questioning where his mother was.

Knowing Sherlock wasn’t exactly the most comforting presence, John hurried over to the blanket, picking up the boy and cradling him close. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Mummy isn’t here, but we’re going to take very good care of you.” He settled on the floor next to Mina (Sherlock had insisted on the moniker after the second time Olivia had called her Wilhemina), who had yet to make a sound. Her big, blue eyes were clear, taking in everything, and her face was solemn. “Sherlock, come sit down,” John told his friend.

“Why—“

“It’s better when we’re on their level.”

Sherlock looked between John and the children, but sat on the blanket without another word.

“I’m John and this is Sherlock, and you’re going to be staying with us for a while. I know it’s a bit scary, being away from home, but I think you’ll like it here. Sherlock can teach you chemistry, and I’ll take you to the park to feed the ducks.”

He was joking a bit with the chemistry, but, knowing Sherlock’s genes, they might actually enjoy watching some of Sherlock’s more colorful experiments, even at this young age. Sherlock perked up at the words.

“Yes, I can teach you the science of deduction, and John will _not_ take you to feed the ducks. He will teach you about medicine. He’s a brilliant doctor.”

John warmed at the words. Sherlock was quite stingy with his praise, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from, given that Sherlock had never seen him do more than stitch up a few cuts.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John” Sherlock said, seemingly reading John’s mind, as he was prone to do. “You did field surgery in Afghanistan, and you deal with stupid people telling you about their silly little illnesses without getting annoyed. You _are_ a brilliant doctor.” He turned back to the children. “He is very good in tense situations, and he keeps me safe. You could not be in better hands,” he said solemnly. He looked back up at John. “Do they understand what we are saying, or are you just talking to calm them down?”

“A bit of both,” John replied. “Children are like sponges at this age. Their spoken language might be rudimentary, but their receptive language skills are quite advanced. They understand most of what’s being said, if it’s not about maths or science or philosophy, of course. They are able to perform actions based on simple requests and can understand thing like ‘let’s go to the park’ or ‘time to eat.’ It’s best to talk to them as normally as possible. Their little brains figure things out quite quickly.”

Sherlock nodded solemnly. “I need to do research.”

“After dinner, baths, and bed,” John agreed.

Ian, tears mostly done at this point, looked up at John with wide eyes. “Eat?”

John looked at Sherlock. “See?”

“Oh, God. He’s an eater like you,” was Sherlock’s reply.

“You mean like a normal person, then?” was John’s cheeky rejoinder. He passed Ian to Sherlock after the other man was standing, then stood up himself and picked up Mina. He straightened to see a look of horror on Sherlock’s face as he held Ian at arm’s length.

“How do I….?”

John snorted. “We’ve got a lot to teach Sherlock, don’t we, Mina?” John asked, looking at the girl. She nodded seriously, then patted John’s cheek as if to say, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you. It’ll be okay.” John smiled at her, then looked back at his hapless friend. “Like this,” he said, hitching Mina up on a hip.

Then John realized they had no high chairs for the children, and he still wasn’t confident enough in the cleanliness of the kitchen to let them eat in there anyway. He cast his eyes about, alighting on the coffee table. Sherlock tended to walk on top of it, so putting food directly on it was probably not the best idea, but… “I’m going to borrow a table cloth from Mrs. Hudson. You pull out an apple, carrots, crackers, and hummus. Oh, and milk and plates to put the food on.”

John headed for the door.

“But, Ian…what do I…?” The panicked look was back yet again. It was so strange seeing Sherlock so helpless. A bit nice, too, to be the more knowledgeable person for once.

“Carry him or put him down, whatever you want. Just be aware he might wander, so keep an eye out. We don’t have gates yet.”

John hurried down the stairs with Mina before Sherlock could say another word. The best way to get Sherlock used to dealing with the children was to throw him straight into the fire. John had been contemplating staying home from the clinic the next day, but was now rethinking it. Maybe just a half day… They did need to go to the Emilia’s house to pick up more of the children’s things first.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meals and baths are attempted, John realizes yet again that Sherlock is the likeable brother, Sherlock speaks baby, and everyone gets ready for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that Mycroft would be the type of uncle to throw money rather than love at nieces and nephews. I mean, he does love them, but more in a "oh, they look...fully functional" way. He tries, poor sod. Maybe he'll get better once they're older.

Mealtime went well enough. Sherlock learned about cutting up food and watched in fascination as Ian ate everything on his plate, as well as most of his sister’s, once it was realized she wouldn’t be partaking. John managed to get some PediaSure into her, then contemplated forcing one on his flatmate as well, seeing as he ate about as much as Mina did, distracted as he was watching the children.

Bath time was up next, which again had Sherlock wide-eyed as John showed him how it was done. John was just about to suggest getting them out when the doorbell rang again. He had a good idea who it was, and he was glad for another reason to leave Sherlock alone with the twins. Both because Sherlock needed the practice and given the fact that the children were quite enjoying themselves and would likely not be happy to be forced out.

He stood up and wiped his hands dry on a towel. “Best get them out now. Nappies and clothes are on the counter. Be right back.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“To brief Mycroft on the situation.”

“What is _he_ doing here?” Sherlock sneered.

“I texted him.”

“Why?”

“He should know what’s going on. They are technically his family, too.”

“Only in a DNA sense. I thought you weren’t spying for him.”

John rolled his eyes. “I’m not. But you know he’d find out somehow. Might as well get this over with now, on our own terms.”

“Fine,” was the resigned reply.

The quick acquiescence startled John. He had been ready for more of a fight. Sherlock was busy pouring water over Ian’s shampooed head, though, and missed John’s look of surprise. John shrugged and headed down the hall to greet the British Government. As he left, he heard Sherlock explaining to the children, “Mycroft is not to be trusted except in dire circumstances, Mina and Ian. He is a silly man, and we don’t tolerate his kind here, so frown at him as often as possible.”

John’s smile lasted until he saw Mycroft’s smirk as the man crested the stairs and entered the kitchen door. John didn’t regret calling Mycroft in, but he really wished he didn’t actually have to deal with the man in person. One Holmes brother was more than enough. And Sherlock was the _likeable_ one.

“You rang,” Mycroft said, passing John and sitting in his chair in the living room.

John rolled his eyes and turned to Mycroft. “I’m guessing you’re aware of the situation.”

“The mother of Sherlock’s progeny was killed in an auto accident a week ago. Her will stipulated that Sherlock would receive temporary custody of the children in the event that both she and the two designated guardians preceded the children in death.”

John sighed. Did the man have a caring bone in his body? These were living, breathing children they were talking about. Ones who had lost the only family they had ever known. But as John had thought many times before, Sherlock was the likeable one.

Sherlock claimed to not care, but he had been the one who had immediately gone to the shops in search of food for the children. The one who had taken the children in without complaint, who had panicked at not knowing what to do. Sherlock was so human that it made John want to cry. How did anyone think the man cold and unfeeling? If one good thing came from The Fall, it was finally getting to see Sherlock be himself.

Mycroft on the other hand…

“Right,” John said. “They arrived just over an hour ago. We will be caring for them here until things are sorted.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “’We,’ Dr. Watson?”

John tamped down a huff of annoyance. “Yes, we. I live here too, and he is my best friend, so I’ll be helping Sherlock.”

“You could leave. No one would blame you,” Mycroft said smoothly. “Or is it that you don’t trust—“

“Don’t,” John snapped. “He’s a genius. He would do fine without me. But he doesn’t _need_ to be alone. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

Mycroft gave an even nod, but John thought he saw a spark of satisfaction on the smug face. Mycroft had always been a bit overinvested in their relationship. “Of course. Where—“

But the question was a cut off with a cry from the bathroom. John managed a smile. Sherlock must be attempting to get them out of the tub. A panicked “John” and murmurs and increasingly loud sobs had John heading in that direction. “Back in a mo,’” he said to Mycroft.

Both children were crying in the drained tub by the time John entered the small room, and Sherlock looked like he might join them. “I just said they needed to get out. Why are they crying?” John barely heard Sherlock’s question over the increasing volume of the children.

“Some children really like baths. They’re probably also tired and confused and emotional.” John handed Sherlock a towel, taking the other for himself. “Up you go,” he said, wrapping the towel around Ian and standing up with him. “You need to dry them off quickly. They probably don’t like the cold,” John explained, toweling off the screaming toddler in his arms. Sherlock watched, then repeated John’s movements on Mina. They got them in nappies and sleeping clothes, by which time the cries had changed to whimpers.

“They are very loud for such small people,” Sherlock whispered to John in awe.

John chuckled. “Yes, they are. Come on. Let’s go meet Uncle Mycroft.”

“No, John. They will _not_ be calling him that. I _forbid_ it.”

John just chuckled again, leading the way to the living room.

Mycroft stood as they filed into the room.

“Mina and Ian, this is Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft. Mycroft, this is Ian and Mina.” The scowl on Mina’s face had John wondering if she remembered Sherlock’s earlier words about frowning at the man. But it was more likely that she was just still bitter at being removed from the bath. John looked up from the tiny, scowling face to see Mycroft studying the children with a shocked expression.

“Oh, they’re Sherlock’s alright.”

John snorted. “Right? Mina here is practically his mini me in personality as well. I’m dying to see his baby pictures now. I’m sure he was adorable.”

“I’ll talk to Mummy,” Mycroft said with a look that was more than a little evil.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock barked, but the elder Holmes was not cowed. Sherlock muttered a hurt “Why do you hate me, John?”

“Oi! Remember who’s helping you out here.” John settled in his recently vacated chair with Ian, and a contrite-looking Sherlock took the other, leaving Mycroft to stand in front of them (heaven forbid he use the client chair or coffee table).

“Of course, John.”

Mycroft darted a wide-eyed look at Sherlock before turning back to John. Apparently an agreeable Sherlock surprised his brother just as much as it had John. Good to know he wasn’t alone, though he really would rather not have anything in common with Mycroft.

“Mina and Ian,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “Short for Wilhemina, I assume?” He gave his brother a piercing look that John didn’t understand.

Sherlock just glared.

“Do you need anything?” questioned Mycroft, once he’d recovered his composure.

“Not from you,” pouted Sherlock, holding Mina close. “John and I have this covered.”

John went for a bit more civility, hoping to get Mycroft out the door quickly. “We’re fine, thanks. We’re going to their house tomorrow to pick up more of their things.”

Mycroft nodded. “Very well. Please let me know if you need anything at all.”

“Why do you care?” spat out Sherlock.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “They are my niece and nephew. Of course I care.” John thought the man’s caring ran closer to being a nosy git, but kept the thought to himself. He was the one who had contacted Mycroft after all.

“A technicality. Once they are settled in their new home, they will no longer have any ties to us.”

John looked at his friend in surprise. “You won’t ask for development reports?”

Sherlock was looking down at Mina seriously. “No, it’s best if…Emilia chose my sperm knowing the stipulations that came with it. But Ian and Mina’s best bet for gaining a new family is based on making things as easy as possible for the social workers. The adoptive parents shouldn’t have to deal with me as well.”

“Open adoptions are quite common these days—“

“No,” Sherlock interrupted, tone hard. “It’s better this way.”

John frowned at Sherlock. This was not like him at all. He lived for data and information, seemed fascinated with learning every detail about the twins’ growth and development, but now he was suddenly willing to give it up? He put the thought aside to study later when he had more time.

“I’d best be on my way then,” Mycroft said smoothly. “Mina, Ian, it was a pleasure,” he said solemnly to the twins. “Sherlock, John, goodbye.” He nodded and turned to go.

“Bye bye,” Ian said, waving his little hand at Mycroft’s back as the man finally left them alone. He curled up against John’s chest and yawned.

“It looks like someone is ready for bed,” John noted. Mina nodded in agreement. “Shi—oot,” John cursed, remembering to temper his language just in time. That would take some getting used to. “We don’t have cots.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “They aren’t babies, John.”

“No, but they’re young enough to roll off a bed that doesn’t have railings.” John wracked his brain.

“Then they will sleep on my bed, and you and I will act as railings. It’s large enough to fit all of us easily. I will be doing internet research anyway. I can keep an eye on them.”

The idea of sharing a bed with Sherlock made John’s brain stutter for reasons he couldn’t let himself think about at the moment. “Right,” he finally said, recovering. “Bed then.” He stood up.

“Book,” Ian said. “Toys.”

“No, no, Ian. It’s bedtime. We can play tomorrow,” John placated, standing up.

“Book. Toys. Bed.” Ian stated solemnly. Mina nodded.

“They want to be read a story, John. And they need their toys to sleep with,” Sherlock explained while getting out of the chair.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You speak baby?”

“Ian stated it quite clearly,” Sherlock said evenly. He bent to pick up the duffle sitting on the coffee table. “Are your books and toys in here, Mina?” Sherlock asked. The girl just looked at Sherlock and yawned. “Contrary to John’s belief, I do not read minds,” Sherlock grumbled, but he hauled the girl and the bag into his bedroom, John trailing after with Ian.

Sherlock laid Mina on the bed and dug through the bag, emerging with a stuffed blue pony and a stuffed Spider-Man. He raised his eyebrows at John. “Which…?”

John grabbed the Spider-Man and held it up to Ian. “Is this what you want?” Ian scowled and turned away in a very Sherlockian pout. “But you wanted your toy…”

Sherlock scoffed. “He obviously wants the pony. Here, Ian.” Sherlock held out the animal, and Ian turned back at the sound of his name. He smiled and grabbed the proffered toy. Mina whimpered and held out her hands. John handed her the Spider-Man. Apparently their mother had not been planning to adhere to society’s gender norms. Not that he was complaining. It was just a bit surprising.

It made John’s chest ache to realize she wouldn’t be able to finish raising her children, that the twins would grow up without the mother who had wanted them so badly that she had chosen to have and raise them on her own. He took a deep breath and tamped down the feelings. _Not the time, Watson._

“Okay, so toys are taken care of. Now book,” John said.

Sherlock dug around in the bag again and came up with a Paddington Bear book.

Ian grinned sleepily. “Book!”

Sherlock tried to hand the book to John, but John turned away to get settled on the bed, laying Ian next to his sister.

“You have the better voice. You read,” John told his flatmate.

“No, I don’t,” was Sherlock’s reply.

“Of course you do. Mine is very normal. Yours is…” John struggled for the words. “…rich. Soothing.”

Sherlock stared at John. Then he abruptly walked to the other side of the bed and sat down next to Mina. “Fine.”

Sherlock read the story of Paddington Bear to the twins, who were both asleep before he was halfway through. John was on his own way to dreamland by the time the story was finished, proving his point that Sherlock’s voice was soothing. He shook himself awake. “I guess I’ll go get ready…”

“It’s barely 7:30, John. Much too early for you to sleep. I’ll watch the children for now.”

But John was reluctant to leave the peaceful atmosphere and the comfy bed. “I’ve got a new book to read. I can just as easily read here as in the living room. I’ll go change into pajamas and be back soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Child development is discussed, Mrs. Hudson approves, possessions are moved, and John contemplates their new life.

The night went easily enough. The twins woke up twice, but were easily persuaded back to sleep. John slept only lightly, constantly worrying he’d roll over on top of the tiny humans sleeping next to him, but sleep had never come easy in the army, and now cases (and Sherlock) frequently kept him up overnight, so he was used to a lack of sleep. Sherlock apparently quit his research at some point, because when John awoke the next morning, Sherlock was passed out on his pillow, drooling. Mina was sitting next to him, pulling on his ear while Ian patted his leg.

Unable to resist, John snapped a picture, more than fine with keeping it for blackmail purposes. Then he rolled out of bed, used the loo, then came back for the twins. “Breakfast?” he asked quietly.

Ian smiled and held up his arms. John somehow managed to grab both children and their toys and haul them to the living room, where he settled them on their blanket while he pulled together breakfast. Breakfast revealed that Mina more a fan of bananas and cereal than she was of hummus and carrots, while Ian would only eat banana. John had the children fed, cleaned up, and playing with their toys and some crumpled up paper and empty boxes by the time Sherlock dragged himself into the sitting room. He rubbed his eyes as he silently sat cross-legged in front of the twins and watched them play.

John really shouldn’t have been surprised at the fascination Sherlock had for these children. Toddlers developed so quickly, John could see the appeal in creatures with rapid learning skills. Add on that they had Sherlock’s DNA, and they became the best experiment Sherlock could hope for. He likely had been highly curious about his own childhood development, and now to be able to see that replicated right in front of him, the lure had to be enticing. Which made John wonder again why Sherlock was willing to sever all ties with the children once they were placed in their new home. Unable to come up with an adequate answer, John settled for watching the three of them.

Ian babbled non-stop to Mina, who never said a word back, but giggled in return. She was busy separating balls of crumpled paper into two piles. She then looked at Sherlock and pointed to one pile.

“Very good, Mina,” came Sherlock’s sleep-roughened voice. “According to my research, Emilia was correct in stating that Mina is highly developed mentally for her age, despite her not speaking,” Sherlock noted to John before turning back to Mina. “Do you want me to crumple these, too?” he asked her. She nodded.

John looked at the pile in surprise. “She separated the paper into piles based on how much they were crumpled?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied, crumpling paper into balls. “We should make sure the children have crayons and paper. They should be drawing. And books. Hopefully they have more challenging books than Paddington Bear at their house. If not, we will need to stop at a bookstore. And possibly a toy store. Although, being a pediatrician, I’m sure Emilia knew to give her children developmental toys to enhance their development. As I said, Mina is highly advanced mentally for her age group. Ian is above average, but not at her level, though his speech skills are much better. Much as I would expect you would have been at that age.” Sherlock cocked his head. “I would be interested to see your development rates. Did your parents keep any notes, and do you still have them?”

John gaped in surprise. “Um… I know Mum had baby books for me and Harry, but I’m not sure if they are still around, not that they’d have the level of detail to satisfy you. I guess I can check with Harry? She is a bit of a pack rat. She might have kept them when she cleaned out Mum and Dad’s house.”

John’s parents had died while John was in the army. His mother from cancer his first year in, and his father in a car accident several years later. Mum had always said John would make a wonderful father, and he wondered idly what she would’ve thought of his current situation (and the fact that he hadn’t provided her with grandchildren yet).

He shrugged the thought aside, now thinking about what Harry would say when he explained the situation to her. She’d probably laugh. She had always understood John better than their Mum, how, though he was a caretaker by nature, his first instincts were to head toward action and danger. She hadn’t been surprised when he’d moved in Sherlock, and then moved _back_ in when Sherlock returned. Yes, she would laugh at their current predicament. Then pat him on the shoulder and say, “So Mum gets her grandkids after all.” After which he’d punch her in the arm and tell her to shut up.

They had managed to grow a bit closer since John’s return to London. She was the one person he had stayed in touch with after The Fall, though mostly because Harry would constantly call and come by his flat, worried about her big brother. And John worried about his little sister, still drinking and ignoring the fact that her own life had gone to shit much more than John’s had. So they weren’t close, but they got on better than they had when John had been in the army.

“That would be helpful,” Sherlock said, pulling John out of his thoughts. What? Right, baby books. He made a note to text Harry later that day. For now, they had business to take care of.

“We should hit the road soon. We need to get to and back from the house before noon, so I can go in to work this afternoon.” John stood. “You watch the kids while I get ready, then we’ll switch.”

“You’re going to work today?” Sherlock’s look was less panicked than it had been the day before, but he still didn’t look happy at the prospect of being left alone with two toddlers, though he probably felt a bit more confident after his night of internet research. John made another mental note to buy him a few child-rearing books after work.

“Yes, they’re short a doctor already. I could only beg off for the morning. You’ll be fine. Most parents know nothing when they first have kids. You’re probably already far ahead of them with the amount of information you likely mainlined last night.”

John ignored Sherlock’s stuttered replies and headed upstairs to get ready. It wasn’t until he was walking out of the loo a bit later that he realized they’d need to get the children’s cots and pram, along with clothes and toys. How were they going to haul it all back to Baker Street? Hmmm, Mycroft had offered his help last night…John wasn’t sure whether he would rather deal with a car rental company or Sherlock’s nosy older brother. Deciding he liked the idea of Mycroft paying for things, he went with the latter.

**Need a small lorry to haul cots and pram to the flat. Still willing to help out?**

He shot the text off to Mycroft as he came back into the living room to see Sherlock watching raptly as Mina and Ian attempted to pile paper into a tower. John’s phone buzzed.

**Lorry will meet you at the house. Car with child seats will pick you up in half an hour. – M**

“Hire car will be here in half an hour, Sherlock. Go get ready.” John left off that it was courtesy of Mycroft. He didn’t need Sherlock pouting when he should be getting ready.

Sherlock sighed, but stood smoothly as John settled on the floor in his place. Ian was now throwing balls of paper around the room while Mina giggled and hugged her Spider-Man toy.

Indeed, Sherlock did pout when he saw the fancy car that was waiting at the curb when they exited the house a little later, but managed to keep it to a muttered “Bloody Mycroft” and an eye roll. They buckled the children in and headed out to Croyden, where Emilia had lived with the twins. Two lorries and a gaggle of movers met them at the house. John was surprised that he was even surprised anymore. Of course Mycroft had hired movers to pack up the house. Emilia Thompson had no one else to do it for her, and her children were indeed Mycroft’s blood family, so he would feel obligated to help.

A woman arrived soon after John and Sherlock reached the house. She looked a bit overwhelmed by the large number of people waiting on her to open the house.

“Lila Brown. I work—uh, worked with Emilia,” she said, holding her hand out to Sherlock, who only nodded. She looked at John, who held out his own hand. “John Watson. That one’s Sherlock Holmes,” he said, nodding at Sherlock.

“I always wondered what the twins’ father would look like. Makes sense, now that I see you all together,” she said, eyeing Sherlock and the twins. “And you,” she continued, looking at John. “Blond hair, blue eyes, short. You and Emilia could have been siblings. If you were a doctor, too, it’d be even crazier.”

“Um. I am a doctor, actually,” John replied, feeling a bit off kilter.

“Shall we get on with it?” Sherlock interrupted, startling Lila. “We haven’t the time for idle chit chat.”

Lila looked a little annoyed at the interruption, but nodded and headed for the front door. “No one knew Emilia all that well. She mostly kept to herself and had only bought into the practice about three years ago. She was excellent with children, but didn’t do so well with adults. We only ever saw the twins because she’d bring them in for their jabs.”

“I assume they’re up-to-date on all inoculations and check-ups?” John asked, in doctor mode.

Lila nodded, then unlocked the door. “What’s going to happen to the house?”

“It’s being taken care of,” Sherlock said shortly, scanning the living room and kitchen area. John knew he’d already deduced about a thousand things about Emilia and the life she’d led with Mina and Ian. He was curious as to his friend’s conclusions. He’d ask later.

“Do the children have a trust fund? The proceeds of the sale of Emilia’s part of the practice will go to the children, of course,” Lila said, walking around the room.

“One will be set up,” Sherlock replied, walking toward the hallway where the rooms presumably were.

Movers began entering the house and going about the job of packing. John stopped a man just as he began pulling framed photos off the fireplace mantle. Some were of a woman (presumably Emilia, given her blond hair and short stature) with the twins. Others included just the kids. A couple were of Emilia and two other people. Her friends, John assumed.

“We’ll take those,” John said to the mover.

“Of course, sir. If there’s anything else you don’t want packed, please let us know. We were told to not pack up the nursery until you were through.”

John nodded. “I’ll check out the kitchen. If there are any toys or children’s things out, leave those for us to sort through first.”

“Yes, sir.”

John felt like he was back in the army. Where had Mycroft gotten these movers?

John wandered into the kitchen, carrying Mina with him. Lila followed behind. “So, where do you live?”

“Near Regent’s Park,” John side idly, opening up cabinet doors.

“You’re going to raise children in the city?” Lila asked, nose wrinkled.

“The city is a perfectly fine place to raise children,” John retorted, then remembered that they wouldn’t be keeping the children anyway, so it didn’t matter. “Sherlock is only a temporary guardian, in any case. Our social worker is looking for an adoptive family for the twins.”

“Sherlock? Not you, too?”

“Not legally, no.” John began piling baby kitchenware on the counter. “I’m just his flatmate.”

“But you’re here, helping him pack up baby gear. And you’re letting him, even temporarily, raise two children in your London flat.”

“’Course.” John was hurt. Sherlock was his best friend. Why did people assume he’d run screaming the moment Sherlock needed his help with something that wasn’t crime-related? Mrs. Hudson had been the only one so far who hadn’t been surprised John was staying and helping. He’d gone downstairs the evening before to explain the situation to their landlady, telling her the whole tale over tea.

“Of course you two will be staying,” Mrs. Hudson had exclaimed. “I wouldn’t kick you out just because you’ll have two babies in the flat. I would’ve kicked you out long before now if it was noise I was concerned with.” John had chuckled in agreement. They definitely were not the best of tenants.

“I’m actually quite interested to see you two deal with a pair of toddlers,” she had said cheekily. “I mean, you’re used to it, what with Sherlock, but Sherlock will be a bit different.”

“So you’re not surprised I’m helping?” John had asked, having already dealt with the social workers’ and Mycroft’s disbelief.

“Of course not! You would never leave Sherlock to deal with a problem on his own. You would’ve been up there on the roof at Bart’s with him if he’d had told you,” she had continued. Mrs. Hudson was still a bit bitter that Sherlock had left John alone for a year.

And John would have. John would’ve jumped, if Sherlock had asked him. Or even if Sherlock hadn’t asked him. If John had known, he would’ve gone with Sherlock, helped him dismantle Moriarty’s network. But he couldn’t. So he’d do what he could now, which included caring for the two children who looked so much like Sherlock.

“Sherlock’s my best friend,” John explained to Lila, back in the present. “Wouldn’t you help your best friend if they found themselves in a similar situation?”

Lila studied John. “Yeah, maybe. But I don’t know about bringing two children into a bachelor pad.”

John shrugged. “It’s temporary. They’ll be going to another family as soon as one can be found.”

Lila nodded, apparently satisfied.

It took most of the morning to round up all of the twins’ things, get them back to Baker Street, then unload again. John was immensely grateful they weren’t doing it alone. Once he saw just how much they’d brought back with them, he did wonder if they would’ve been better off moving into the house in Croydon for the duration of the twins’ stay with them, but the idea of raising the children in their dead mother’s house, especially when Sherlock and John did not know Emilia personally, bothered him. So they would deal with an overly crowded flat for a few months. They’d manage. A toy box was moved into the corner of the living room and the harpoon relocated to John’s room. High chairs were placed in the now clean kitchen (courtesy of the movers) and boxes of Sherlock’s chemistry equipment temporarily placed in the still empty 221C. Sherlock’s bed was resituated to make room for the two cots. A two-child pram stood in the hallway downstairs, along with child seats for taxi rides. John made a mental note to take the Tube when possible, not wanting to haul around seats everywhere. They couldn’t rely on a hire car from Mycroft every time they wanted to go somewhere. He was glad the park was within walking distance.

John wondered how they would have done it, if Sherlock had decided to keep the children. He didn’t like the thought of moving out of Baker Street and away from Mrs. Hudson. Perhaps they could have talked Mrs. Hudson into renting John 221C for cheap (since it wasn’t getting any use otherwise). Then the twins could’ve gone into John’s old room. That way he’d still be around to help out, but they’d have a bit more breathing room.

Of course, it was silly to even think about it. Of course Sherlock wouldn’t want to keep the children. He might be fascinated by their development now, but he would soon grow bored and want to go back to solving murders and hunting down criminals in the dead of night. He was definitely not made for child rearing. John might be a bit better suited for it, but he too would miss going to crime scenes and watching Sherlock use his brilliant brain to solve puzzles.

Still, he was secretly glad to get the chance to taste what life as a parent would be like, seeing as the odds of him marrying and raising a family were quite slim. His dating life had become non-existent even before Sherlock left him, and he hadn’t really managed to pick it back up again since Sherlock’s return. Sherlock’s increasing case load and John’s own work at the clinic kept him occupied, and he’d gotten out of the habit of leaving the house in the evening, unless there was a case to occupy them. Not to mention, pining over your best friend didn’t exactly do wonders for your dating life.

John was getting ready to leave for the clinic when the doorbell rang. A few moments later, Greg was striding into the room. He managed to get out “Why are you and Sherlock ignoring my texts and calls?” before stopping in amazement at the explosion of children’s things now occupying the sitting room. The twins themselves were on the floor, playing with the building blocks that Sherlock had approved of as crucial to developing motor skills. Ian was chattering away, Mina nodding from time to time. John recognized the occasional real word, but most of it appeared to be gibberish, but that didn’t seem to deter either child.

“What…?” asked Greg in astonishment.

John patted his shoulder sympathetically. “We’ve become temporary guardians to Sherlock’s twin children. Have Sherlock give you the details. I’m already late for work. Sherlock!” he called. Sherlock poked his head into the living room. “I’m leaving. Don’t forget, the kids should go down for naps soon. And they’ll need snacks at some point. I should be home around half six.”

“Yes, John. We just went over this twenty minutes ago. I haven’t forgotten,” he said acerbically.

“Of course. Just making sure you knew I was leaving.” John knelt in front of the twins. “Goodbye, Ian, Mina,” he said solemnly. “Keep Sherlock in line while I’m gone, okay?” Mina nodded, and John brushed kisses on both their heads.

He wasn’t thrilled about leaving them, but he really was needed at work. It’s not that he didn’t trust Sherlock. He was still fascinated enough with the children that he wouldn’t go into his mind palace and forget about them. But there was still so much to do to get their flat in working order, and John was enjoying being around the children. Getting just a taste of what his best friend might have been like as a child. But it was just for a few hours, then he’d be home again.

He left the flat to Greg questioning Sherlock. “ _How_ do you have children, and _why_ do they look like an uncanny mix between you and John?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home to three adorable Holmeses, the thing with the peas makes an appearance, domesticity is far too enjoyable, and Greg comes by with a case.

Greg’s parting question lingered with John all afternoon. He guessed he could see why strangers might think the four of them related, if they happened upon them all together. Mina had John’s coloring and Ian shared his nurturing personality, but those were pretty big stretches. Lots of people shared those traits. It was strange that Greg thought the children looked like John, though, since he knew both John and Sherlock so well. To John, the twins looked exactly like Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft both had noted the similarities in appearance between Sherlock and his progeny.

John finally shrugged it off as Greg just trying to be funny or catch Sherlock off guard and managed to focus on work. After an afternoon of check-ups, jabs, and extremely boring paperwork, John left the clinic and headed for the nearby bookstore, where he purchased a few books he thought Sherlock and the kids might appreciate. His mood, dampened by the day’s work, lightened as he got closer to Baker Street, looking forward to being with Sherlock and the twins for the evening.

His phone dinged with a return text from Harry, saying she had kept their baby books and would bring them by later that week, before questioning why he wanted them. John replied with a quick “Will explain when you drop by” before opening the door to his home. He called a hello to Mrs. Hudson before heading up the stairs to the flat. He walked in to find Sherlock, lab goggles on his face, pouring liquid from one beaker into another; Ian and Mina were sat in their high chairs, watching with rapt expressions. They were also wearing goggles (where had Sherlock even _found_ such tiny ones?). All three looked incredibly adorable.

John wanted to smile at the scene, but didn’t want to encourage dangerous behavior in his flatmate. “Sherlock, should the kids be in here?”

“They’re fine, John. Most of this is harmless anyway, and the baby chairs are far enough away to keep them out of harm’s way.”

“Then why are they wearing goggles?”

“You’re always harping on me to use lab safety. I thought you’d appreciate that I’m getting my— _the_ children in the habit early.”

John loved how Sherlock threw himself whole-heartedly at anything he did. It was one of many things he loved about the man.

John shook his head in amusement. “Fine. What are you doing, anyway?”

“Teaching Mina and Ian about colors and light refraction.”

“Sherlock, you do realize they have no idea what you’re saying, right? They might understand concepts like dinner and park and sleep, but I’m pretty sure science is beyond them at this point.”

“They’re reacting quite positively to the experiment.”

“That’s because you have pretty-colored liquid in pretty glass beakers.”

“Then I will count the afternoon as a success. They and I were entertained.”

“Did they nap?”

“Mina did. Ian did not.”

“What else did you all do while I was away?” John settled against the kitchen counter, trying not to look too soppy as he watched Sherlock work.

“Visited Mrs. Hudson. She proclaimed the children adorable and smothered them with kisses. It was disgusting.” But despite his words, Sherlock was fighting a smile. “But she also fed us scones and tea, so we’ve decided to forgive her, haven’t we, Ian?” Ian nodded, probably not following the conversation, but recognizing he’d been asked a question. Mina mimicked her brother’s nod, but never took her eyes off of Sherlock’s hands, currently pouring something in a beaker of pink liquid that was slowly turning it the color of an aubergine. “We also went to the toy store.”

“Is that where you found goggles? I was wondering…” then John had the image of Sherlock pushing a pram and laughed. “Did you use the pram?”

Sherlock frowned and put the beakers down. “There is something wrong with it, John. It took me five minutes to open it up, and I think it wasn’t working right. The seats didn’t seem nearly secure enough.”

Why did it not surprise John that the genius couldn’t work a pram? “I’ll take a look at it later,” John said with a smile. “Hungry? I was going to start on tea now. I’m famished.”

“Eat!” Ian said happily.

“That’s two for. The ayes have it,” John said, going for the refrigerator.

“There are four of us. Two is _not_ a majority,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Yes, well, common sense says that people should eat at regular intervals, so it counts as the tie-breaker.”

John rooted around, trying to decide what to make. He could do the thing with the peas. Sherlock liked that, and it was easy to make, and not difficult for the children to eat. He set about preparing the meal, listening to Ian and Sherlock’s chatter in the background. Mina was quiet as always, but she looked content, so John wasn’t worried.

“Did you begin speaking late?” John questioned Sherlock, stirring rice into the peas and adding sauce.

“I was two when I started conversing, though I went straight into full sentences. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mina is much the same,” Sherlock said, knowing why John had asked the question. “Mina may be even later to speak, given that she has a twin who can speak for her. Though she might grow frustrated with Ian’s simple language, if she’s cognitively forming more complex sentences herself. We will have to wait and—“ Sherlock cut himself off.

John turned away from the hob to look at his flatmate in concern. “Why don’t you want to keep getting updates from the adoptive family? Open adoptions are quite common. If all you want is data, they probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I already told you, it will be harder to find a family who will take them. They already have their status as twins going against them.” Sherlock’s face was hard.

“They’re young,” John argued. “Plenty of people want babies and would be happy to take two instead of one.”

“I’m already getting to spend extensive time with them. It’s much more than I originally expected. It will be enough.”

John rolled his eyes and muttered a “No, it won’t” before turning back to the food, knowing Sherlock wouldn’t back down any time soon. John would have to figure this out for himself.

John coaxed all three to eat that evening, and they followed up dinner with a little more play time and then story time (Spider-Man for Mina and My Little Pony for Ian, courtesy of John, plus a book about a little girl scientist that Sherlock had picked up at the toy store) before Mina and Ian were laid in their cots for sleep.

ooOOoo

And so time progressed. John would work a few hours each day, while Sherlock stayed with the children (working on their mental and physical development, Sherlock claimed). They spent mornings and evenings together, and Sherlock seemed only a little torn when Greg would text about a case.

After discussing it with Sherlock, John had requested that Greg not ask Sherlock to come out on cases (the children were his responsibility after all and it was only for a few months), but the DI did ask questions that Sherlock could answer from home. Asking Sherlock to go cold turkey was unthinkable. And if John was allowed to work, Sherlock should be able to as well. So Sherlock would take the occasional call or text from Scotland Yard, and he also spent time working through some of the more mundane cases in his email. John worried that his friend would grow bored, but he truly seemed completely focused on watching the children and teaching them things he thought proper (which usually weren’t) for nineteen-month-olds to know.

John would take the twins to the park or to the shops, and he occasionally talked Sherlock into coming with. Sherlock was simultaneously horrified and fascinated with the way people reacted to seeing twin toddlers, with himself never having felt the need to walk up and coo at complete strangers’ children. John shrugged and said it was just a thing people did, which had caused Sherlock to scrunch up his nose (rather endearingly, if John was being honest) and ask “But _why_?”

John quickly grew to enjoy their new routine. It was definitely different, and he did miss going out for cases and dinner and laughing at Sherlock’s antics, but he was kept busy with food, nappies, and playtime. He wondered how they would have balanced children and crime scenes, if they—no, if _Sherlock_ —had decided to keep them. Because asking Sherlock (and John, to a lesser extent) to just stop doing what he did best would be a prison for the consulting detective. John thought maybe they could have found a nanny service that could provide care for the children when Sherlock and John were busy with a case, but it didn’t really matter, since they weren’t keeping the children.

Which, as time went on, was harder for John to come to terms with. Mina and Ian had become real people to him, with their own personalities and likes and dislikes. They loved it when Sherlock read to them or when John played horsey or aeroplane with them. John learned their sleeping and eating habits, and he missed them when he was at work. He enjoyed listening to Sherlock explain experiments to them, hearing Mina’s giggles when there was smoke (or, the one time, a very small and very controlled fire).

He wondered if he could…but no, if he adopted the children, he’d have to move out of Baker Street and he wouldn’t have time to see Sherlock, and Sherlock wouldn’t be there to help him with the children, and that was wrong for so many reasons. So John vowed to just enjoy the time he had left with them. Olivia had a few leads for possible families, but vetting them took time, so the children remained at Baker Street.

About a month into the new arrangement, John was wrestling with the twins on the floor of the living room while Sherlock answered emails and went through cases. It was the kind of evening John had come to enjoy. It was more domestic than he ever thought he’d appreciate, but it felt right. He wasn’t sure he’d want it all the time, but for now it was nice. It made him feel connected to something bigger than himself. And if he occasionally pretended that he and Sherlock were more than friends, well, that stayed firmly in his fantasies.

The doorbell rang, and John looked over at Sherlock to see if he was expecting anyone.

“It’s Lestrade,” Sherlock explained without looking up from his laptop screen. “He’s annoyed that I’m ignoring his texts.”

“Why are you ignoring his texts?” John asked, just as Greg strode into the flat.

“Because he’s a git,” Greg said, looking thoroughly overwhelmed.

“Difficult case?” queried John, sitting up from where he’d been lying on the floor letting the kids climb all over him. He needed to get them settled down for bedtime.

Greg rubbed his eyes and nodded.

“Fourth locked-room murder in a week,” Sherlock replied, still not looking up from his laptop.

Greg grunted in agreement before kneeling in front of the twins. “Hello, Mina and Ian. How are you?” The children were becoming quite familiar with the DI, as he’d become a frequent visitor since their arrival.

Ian waved hello, then went to climb back on John.

“No more, silly boy. It’s almost bed time.” John grabbed Ian, handed him to Greg, then stood up with Mina in his arms.

“Story!”

“Yes, Ian. Story time, too. Let’s get settled in with Sherlock, shall we?” John nodded for Greg to take Ian to the sofa where Sherlock was closing his laptop and picking up one of the books that now lived on the coffee table.

“ _Rosie Revere_ tonight, Mina?” Sherlock asked.

Mina nodded happily as John settled her on one side of Sherlock, sitting down next to her. Greg settled Ian on Sherlock’s other side, and Ian leaned into his birth father comfortably.

John looked up at Greg. “Is this an emergency, or can it wait until after story time?”

Greg looked nonplussed. “Um, it can wait.”

So Greg sat himself down in a chair while Sherlock read to the twins. After, John took both of the twins in his arms.

“I’ve got ‘em,” John told Sherlock, when Sherlock stood to help. “You talk with Greg, alright?”

Sherlock looked a bit upset, but nodded and sat back down on the sofa, trying to look bored for the DI.

John got the kids changed, their teeth brushed, and settled into their cots with their beloved stuffed toys. He was exiting Sherlock’s room when he heard Greg’s tired, “I know you’ve got other responsibilities right now, Sherlock, but we really need you on this case. Four bodies, and we’re no closer to figuring it out than we were a week ago. Look, the kids are in bed, you can come look at the latest crime scene. I’ve not let anybody touch it. It happened less than two hours ago. There was a maid in the house who might be able to provide clues…”

John leaned on the door frame, watching his flatmate. Sherlock looked so torn. John knew he was itching to go. And really, it was wrong deny his friend the job he was made to do. Even if Sherlock ended up staying out of the flat for several days, he had already proven his ability to be responsible for his children.

“Go,” John said quietly.

Sherlock looked up in surprise. “But the children…”

“Are sleeping, like Greg said. I don’t mind a quiet night in.”

“It might go on for days.”

“I know. You’ve more than proven that you’re a responsible parent. And it’s not fair that I’m allowed to work while you stay at home.”

“I like—“

“I know, Sherlock.” John smiled. “But you also like crime scenes, and it’s been over a month since you’ve seen one last. And the Met needs you. Go catch a murderer. You can come back and tell me and the kids all about it.”

Sherlock looked hopeful and excited for a moment before his face shuttered. “No.”

“What? Sherlock.” What the hell? John knew Sherlock wanted to go. Was dying to go. The Met needed him.

“If you can’t go, I’m not going.”

John sighed in frustration. “Really, it’s fine. I get out of the house all the time. You only leave when we take the kids to the park or you need more chemistry supplies.”

“I got milk that one time.”

“Yes, and you got milk that one time. You still should go. You _need_ to catch this murderer.”

“The Met can manage.”

“No, they can’t,” John said, the same time that Greg said “No, we can’t.”

John raised his eyebrows in a wordless _See?_

“I need you, John. And you need to stay with the children, so I won’t go either.”

“You don’t need my help, Sherlock. You’ve solved loads of cases without me.”

“You’re a conductor of light, John. I _do_ need you.”

John warmed a little at the words. Sherlock had first told him that when they were at Dartmoor, years ago. It still made John happy to hear the words. And…Sherlock knew that it did, damn him. John sighed, knowing he was beat.

“I’ll see if Mrs. Hudson is willing to keep an eye on the kids tonight. They should sleep through. I can come home tomorrow and take over.”

Sherlock’s face practically glowed, which made John feel better about his decision. He’d made Sherlock happy, which made him feel invincible.

“Mycroft is still insisting on meddling. I’ll have him find a nanny service, should the case continue into tomorrow.” Sherlock’s face had a bit of an evil tinge to it at the thought of making his brother do things for him.

Greg looked relieved. “You’ll come to the crime scene?”

Sherlock was texting frantically. “Yes, we’ll leave as soon as I write up instructions for Mrs. Hudson and the nanny. Get dressed, John.”

John looked down and remembered he was already in his pajamas. “Right. See you soon, then, Greg?”

Greg nodded. “Thanks, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for tonight. I've got some kinks to work out of the back half of the story, but it'll definitely be up sometime in the next few days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John miss the children and adoption and living arrangements are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! They finally talk. A little at least. As one of my commenters said, they're such losers.

They didn’t make it back to the flat for three days. Well, Sherlock didn’t make it back for three days, as he was first stuck at Bart’s running test after test then running around London. John had gone home the afternoon after they’d first left to check in on the kids and the nanny and grab a change of clothes. But he’d spent that next night trapped in a locked basement with no phone signal in an empty house he had been meant to check for clues. Sherlock had been caught up in the case and didn’t realize John’s absence for several hours. Once he had sent the Met after John, there had been more houses to search and an arrest to make.

John wasn’t as tired as he usually was after a long case, given that he’d had time to sleep while trapped, but he still was thinking longingly of his bed as they sat in the taxi on the ride home.

What he really wanted, though, was to get back to the flat and hug the kids for a good long while. He wanted a quiet evening at home reading and playing with them. He wanted a lazy morning spent eating a late breakfast and maybe wandering through the park. And…when had his priorities changed so much?

Sure, he’d enjoyed those things before, but he thought it was just because they were something different. He really had thought that, when they had their first case after the kids were gone, he’d be ready to get back into the crazy life he and Sherlock had once had. And he _did_ want it…just not as much as he used to. He thought he might be happy with a few less cases, while spending the rest of the time raising the twins. And, oh God, _how_ was he going to let them go?

Maybe he could talk Sherlock into it. John would be happy to take on the main responsibility for the children, and let Sherlock go haring about the city doing what he loved. Sherlock would be there in between. But Sherlock did not want two children interrupting his life, no matter that John would be responsible for them. No, of course not. Just three days before, he had been ready to throw a fit because John was going to stay home with the children. He would always want John at his side, apparently. And John couldn’t deny Sherlock anything. Which meant that John would have to deny himself. He was used to that, after almost four years of friendship with and unrequited love for Sherlock Holmes.

“You miss them,” Sherlock said softly.

John turned away from the window he was staring out of. “I….” Could he admit to that? Sherlock could read him like a book. He’d know what John really wanted if John allowed himself to admit even a part of what he felt. He gave his best laugh. “I miss my bed.”

“You always miss your bed. Complain about it constantly when we’re out. But this time, you miss the children more.” Sherlock sounded pleased with his conclusion, at figuring John out.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m getting soft in my old age. Need to spend a bit more time at home than I used to.” It came out a bit more bitter than John intended.

“You had no problem jumping back into the fray when you moved back to Baker Street, and that was only a year ago. This is specifically about the children.”

“I’m worried about them, of course. They’re our responsibility, and we left them alone with a stranger for three days,” John argued. That was true enough.

“Mrs. Hudson kept guard, and the nanny was personally vetted by Mycroft. The children are fine.”

John sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He really didn’t feel like arguing right now. “Fine, yes! I miss the children. Maybe having them around has made me realize that I want a family more than I thought,” he hissed out. “Happy now?”

Sherlock hummed non-committally. After a few moments, he continued, almost sounding worried. “Do you want to move out of Baker Street? Find a wife and have children?”

“No!” That was the _last_ thing he wanted. John tried to calm down. “No, of course not. There’s no one…” John sighed again. “I love our life. I love that we help so many people. I love watching you work. It’s just…it’s just a passing thing. Once Ian and Mina are settled with a good family, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He wouldn’t be, but he’d pretend. He’d give the performance of his life, if that’s what it took to keep Sherlock around and happy.

“No, John, I’m not happy.”

John jerked around to look at his friend. “What?”

“You asked if I was happy now. I’m not.”

John tread lightly. What was this about? Was he unhappy with John? With the children? “Why aren’t you happy, Sherlock?”

“Because _you’re_ not happy. You want a family. You want to keep Mina and Ian—”

“No, Sherlock. Stop. I’m fine. I’ll _be_ fine. I just—”

“I want to keep them too, John.”

“I—wait. What?” Had John misheard Sherlock? The man had uttered the sentence quietly, and John had already been thinking of rebuttals when it came out.

“I want to keep Mina and Ian, too. I want to adopt them. I want…I want _us_ to adopt them.” Sherlock saw John’s likely stunned expression and hurried on, looking vulnerable. “If you want, that is…”

“Really?” John’s heart clenched. They could keep them? Be a family? “You would let me…?”

“Of course, John,” Sherlock huffed, acerbity back in place. “You have become just as much their parent as I am. Ian asks for you when you’re at work, and Mina wouldn’t let me put away our last experiment until you came home and saw it. And…” he softened again. “I don’t think I could do this without you. I don’t want to. You belong at Baker Street, with us.”

That last bit sent a thrill through John. “I…thank you. Yes, _of course_ I want to adopt them with you.”

Sherlock nodded, looking relieved. “Good, I’m already having the papers drawn up. Olivia will be by tomorrow to do another home inspection and put us through some more interminable questioning.” He looked put out by the very thought, but John could see the glee underneath. He really did want this as much as John did. All of a sudden, it dawned on John.

“Oh. You were worried you were growing too attached to the children,” John mused, half to himself. “That’s why you didn’t want to receive reports from the adoptive family. You thought it would hurt too much.” John’s chest tightened. How had Sherlock managed to keep his emotions in check for most of his life? He was a damned volcano of them.

It made John wonder what else Sherlock had been hiding. He’d been more open since they’d both returned to Baker Street. More prone to smile and share his thoughts with John. John was happy with this turn, but in his innermost thoughts, he wanted more. He never let the thoughts surface for long, since Sherlock had never shown romantic interest in John, but with these most recent change, the thoughts surfaced more and more frequently.

If Sherlock was married to his work, truly, then he wouldn’t be so keen to adopt two toddlers. But here he was, being the first to suggest it. Partly for himself, and partly because he knew John wanted it as well. So not only was he willing to change his priority from work to children, but also to John. Was it just because they were friends? Or had Sherlock’s feelings changed since John’s initial approach at Angelo’s all those years ago? Was he hiding his feelings like John was, just as unsure as to what the other wanted? They were thoughts to ponder. For now, John concentrated on this decision they’d made, in the back of a taxi, of all places. John chanced a glance at Sherlock.

Sherlock, seemingly feeling his gaze, looked at John quickly, then turned back to the window, but he didn’t say anything. They sat quietly in the taxi for a few minutes before Sherlock finally turned to look at John, his face once again schooled.

“I know the idea of people thinking you’re gay bothers you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he said this. “But co-parenting is quite common from what I’ve read on the mummy blogs. We can make it clear to everyone that this is purely for the good of the kids and so that I keep my blogger on hand.”

John laughed, both at Sherlock’s attitude and at the way Sherlock’s train of thought dovetailed with John’s. The not-gay ship had sailed long ago where everyone who had ever met Sherlock and John were concerned. And these days, John rather liked when people mistakenly thought them a couple. “I don’t care what people think. What matters is the four of us.”

“But dating—”

“Is something I won’t have time for for at least a few years, with the three of you keeping me running around,” John shot back. And he didn’t even want touch the being too busy pining thing.

“But sex—”

“I’m forty-one years old. I’ve been okay not having it for the last two plus years. I’m sure I’ll be fine continuing in that vein. And if I get the urge… well, we can explain the co-parenting thing to any of my potential dates, I’m sure. Like you said, it’s quite common these days.” John looked up to see a wide-eyed Sherlock staring back at him. “Hey, the Three-Continents Watson moniker was going to have to be retired eventually,” he joked, trying to steer the conversation away from the fact that most of his urges these days were focused on one brilliant detective who wouldn’t appreciate John’s advances. This discussion was getting dangerous.

Sherlock recovered. “Right. Of course. Can’t stay young forever.”

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of 221 Baker Street. John paid the cabby while Sherlock slid out of the vehicle.

“Hey, uh, congrats,” the cabby said, smiling at John through the mirror. “I think it’s real good what you’re doing for those kids. More families would probably be happier if they were more like yours.”

John smiled back. “Thanks.” He slid out after Sherlock. They were going to be a bit unconventional, but it would work for them.

A thought hit him when he was halfway up the stairs, and he groaned. “This is not going to work.”

Sherlock whipped around, panicked look on his face. “But you said…”

John chuckled. “Sorry, no, not about that. That will work. 221B, however…not so much.”

Sherlock stared at him blankly. “But it’s our home. We can’t leave Mrs. Hudson.”

“And that’s the last thing I want to do, Sherlock, but… our flat isn’t big enough for four people. The twins are sharing a room with you, there’s toys piled all over the living room, you don’t have the space to do real experiments in the kitchen anymore…” He pushed Sherlock up the remaining stairs.

“I rarely use the bedroom. I’m fine getting rid of the bed and just sleeping on the sofa. Our living room has always been messy and crowded. And I can start experimenting more at Bart’s,” Sherlock shot back, opening the door to their flat. He removed his coat and scarf, then glared at John. “We’re _not_ moving out of Baker Street.”

“If anything, you’ll be spending less time at Bart’s, unless you want our children”—and wow, if that didn’t give John a peculiar thrill—“raised by a nanny, which I _don’t_.” John glared right back.

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it. He stared into space for a moment before finally speaking. “We’ll rent 221C. We can put my lab and our living room down there, convert 221B’s living room into your bedroom, and put the twins up in your old room.”

That was actually quite close to John’s earlier thoughts on the subject, but not quite. “Or I can rent 221C, do the cooking and sleeping down there, and 221B’s kitchen can become your lab. The kids still take my old room, but we’ll keep the living room as is.”

“No, I want us all together,” Sherlock replied stubbornly.

John sighed. They had a nanny to pay, kids to see, and showers to take. He really didn’t want to argue, or even think, about this at the moment.

“Well, we’re in agreement that we’ll eventually rent 221C, so let’s argue about this later. I want to see our children.”

Sherlock let out a breath and beamed. “Capital idea.”

John’s own breath stuttered a bit at that smile. John knew Sherlock had a smile just for him. They were best friends, and John could coax much more out of Sherlock than anyone besides maybe Mrs. Hudson could. Of course they shared a few facial expressions with only each other. But this one seemed just a bit different than it had before. More fond, maybe?

Or maybe John was just seeing it differently. They had entered into a new era of their relationship. They were going to raise two beautiful children together. It was definitely going to change their dynamic, had already begun to do so. And John found that he was quite happy with that.

He smiled to himself and followed behind Sherlock to go greet their children.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adoption papers are signed, John learns about the names of his new family, Mrs. Hudson is happy and snarky, and John and Sherlock have a party.

Olivia arrived the next day to perform another check-up, do an in-depth interview with Sherlock and John, and deliver adoption papers. Because Emilia had named Sherlock as temporary guardian in her will, most of the work was a formality, though Olivia told them that if she found anything she didn’t like, she would not hesitate to remove the children from their care.

John worried a bit about their kitchen-turned-laboratory, but Olivia told them they would have six months to get the flat rearranged, once she was made aware that they planned to rent 221C and renovate it. Sherlock looked satisfied that his floor plan won over John’s, and John did have to admit that it made sense to keep the lab away from the sleeping areas, and also that John would be near the children at night.

Olivia agreed that the twins were adjusting even better than they had been during her last visit a couple of weeks before. Mina and Ian still cried for their mother, of course, but they seemed happy with Sherlock and John as their new parents. Mina still refused to eat much and Ian disliked sleeping, but both were common problems among even the most well-adjusted children, and the they seemed healthy, so Olivia said she wasn’t worried.

The interview was as interminable as Sherlock had predicted, but it needed to be done. They managed to make it through with a minimum of scathing comments from Sherlock, who was on his best behavior. With their reputation from the papers and Sherlock’s recent resurrection, John thought Olivia would’ve been harder on them, but she seemed satisfied with what she saw. John wondered if Mycroft had arranged it somehow, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Then came the adoption papers. They were on their fiftieth signatures (at least, that’s what it felt like to John) when Olivia held up the stack, staring at the page they were on. “Huh,” she murmured. “I didn’t know the birth mother named the children after both of you. I guess it was meant to be, wasn’t it?”

She smiled at them, clueless as to what the statement had done to John. Had Emilia really done that? John had only just figured out when they began signing that Sherlock’s first name was actually William, and he really hadn’t thought about it in conjunction with the twins’ names, but Wilhemina was the feminine version of William, and Ian was one of the many equivalents for John. But Emilia hadn’t known Sherlock’s name. Sherlock had said the correspondence was anonymous. So it was just coincidence, wasn’t it? John glanced at Sherlock in question.

Sherlock avoided his eyes, giving Olivia his patented fake smile instead. “Yes, she did. It was a lovely sentiment.”

What? Was Sherlock just saying that to get Olivia to stop talking about it? John couldn’t ask with the social worker in the room, but he sure as hell would be talking to Sherlock about it as soon as the woman left.

With their final signatures in place a few minutes later, Olivia smiled at the men. “Congratulations. You’re parents.” She shook each of their hands, waved at the children, and took her leave, promising to see them in a few months for a check-up. John walked her to the door, then went to face his lying liar of a flatmate (co-parent).

Sherlock was peering in the fridge when John returned to the flat. He glanced a bit nervously at John before looking back into the appliance. “We should feed Mina and Ian, then go to the park. I’ll even let you feed the ducks, since we’re celebrating.”

“Yes, sounds lovely,” John said without inflection. Barely pausing for a breath, he continued, “How did Emilia name the children after us? I thought your correspondence was anonymous. And why was Ian named after me at all? I’m not their father.”

“Yes you are.”

“Well I am _now_ , but unless Emilia was a seer or time traveler, she wouldn’t have known that. What’s going on, Sherlock?”

Sherlock put cheese and apples down on the table, then shut the fridge door and leaned against it, arms crossed.

“Emilia said she wanted to thank me for giving her her children, so she wanted to name them after me. She asked for my first and middle name. I couldn’t exactly give her Sherlock, as Mother had made the name up, and I was in the papers almost weekly by that point.”

“You could have given her William Scott,” John shot back.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “I hate the name Scott. No child should be saddled with that name.”

“John isn’t so great, either. I thought you’d think it too common.”

“Yes, that’s why I suggested she go with an equivalent to John.”

John sat down at the table, shaking his head. “You really gave her my name because you couldn’t use Sherlock or Scott?” He couldn’t help remembering how his jealousy had him blurting out his own hated middle name to stop Sherlock and Irene Adler’s flirting. Had Sherlock remembered that, too, or was it all in John’s head?

Sherlock mirrored him on the other side of the table, playing with the apple he still held “And…because I wouldn’t be alive without you. You deserve so much more than I’ve given you credit for. I thought the least I could do was name one of my superior progeny after you.” He cracked a smile at the end, his face losing that edge of the vulnerability he’d worn since John had come back up to the flat.

“Git,” John replied with a snort, tension draining.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Sherlock replied cheekily.

“Yes, I am a masochist.” John sighed dramatically. “I’ll go round up the kiddies while you pull lunch together.”

“Thank you, John,” came Sherlock’s quiet reply, and John knew he wasn’t thanking him for getting the kids ready for lunch.

“My pleasure, William Sherlock _Scott_ Holmes.”

Sherlock glared at him. “I am not afraid to pull a Hamish out of my arsenal.”

John shrugged in pretend nonchalance. “I’m not bothered.”

“Not even Mina and Ian would believe that rubbish,” Sherlock retorted.

“Well, they are your children and, therefore, highly intelligent.”

“No, John. They’re _our_ children.”

John beamed at his best friend. “Yeah, they are.”

ooOOoo

John had worried that Mrs. Hudson might not be amenable to having Mina and Ian come to live at Baker Street for good. A few months was one thing, but permanent residence was another.

“Don’t be preposterous, John,” Sherlock had said when John had voiced his concerns. “Mrs. Hudson adores the twins almost as much as we do. I think she would have been upset if we _hadn’t_ adopted them.”

And sure enough, she cried when they gave her the news, then proceeded to smother the children with kisses and biscuits. She was even happier when John added that they wanted to rent 221C, and pish poshed when John asked if she’d be bothered by some renovations.

“Of course not. 221C is rather dreadful. Pay for the renovations yourselves, and I won’t even raise your rent.” John considered that a win.

“Of course,” John added, “with the living room moving to the basement, and the twins’ increasing stairs skills, you know they’ll be pounding up and down them in no time.”

“Oh, you mean like you and Sherlock already do?” Mrs. Hudson asked with an air of fake innocence.

John laughed. “Well played.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed dreamily. “Oh, it’s just so nice. This house was meant to be lived in. Not that I wasn’t quite happy when the two of you moved in, but this is even better. I couldn’t ask for more.” She sniffled a bit, and John worried that the waterworks would come out again, but Mrs. Hudson apparently distracted herself with a thought. “Oh! We must have a party!”

“No, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said quickly.

Sherlock hated parties. He was still bitter with John for making them have a Christmas party their first Christmas in Baker Street (and last Christmas, and yes, they would definitely be having a party this year as well). John wasn’t a huge fan of them himself, but he understood why they were sometimes necessary.

John decided to help Mrs. Hudson along. “Come on, Sherlock. Don’t tell me you’re not itching to show off your amazing and talented children to all of our friends.”

“Colleagues. Our friends have already met our children,” Sherlock shot back, but John saw him weakening. He was such a show-off, and John knew that showing off their children was not going to be any different.

“Oh, it will be lovely, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson begged. “Everyone will love the children, and it’s a good way to let everyone know about the adoption. You can invite those lovely Scotland Yard folks, Molly, John’s sister, your brother…”

“Mycroft is _not_ coming.”

ooOOoo

Mycroft came. Granted, he stood awkwardly in the corner of the living room, and he left after twenty minutes, but he came. And John convinced a grudging Sherlock to let the kids call him Uncle Myc (but only because it was technically true). Mycroft obliged with a tight smile, handed over several boxes of presents, then proceeded to look at his mobile screen for the next ten minutes.

Harry, on the other hand, was delighted to be an auntie. They kept the party alcohol-free, so she stayed sober and pleasant for the whole thing. John hoped, seeing her happily playing with Mina and Ian, that the children might give her a reason to stay sober. He didn’t want to deny his children their family, but he would keep them away from Harry if he needed to. Family wasn’t just about blood.

Which was proven by the others attending the party. Mike showed up with his wife and daughter, the latter begging to babysit by the end of the party. Molly was there with her new beau, who looked remarkably like Sherlock. Greg arrived with his own teenaged kids in tow (“Finally got partial custody of them,” he’d said with a grin). Even Dimmock and Hopkins showed up for a bit. And, of course, Mrs. Hudson was there, acting the part of matriarch.

“Of course you’re their gran,” John found himself reassuring her, halfway through the party. “My own parents are gone and Sherlock’s live far enough away that the kids won’t be able to see them much” (they had missed out on the party, but Sherlock [reluctantly] and John [curiously] were taking the kids to visit them in a week). “You’re the most gran of the grans.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled up from the sofa, where she cuddled both of the twins. “You are just the loveliest person, John. I’m so glad you and Sherlock found each other.”

John grinned, fighting down the bubble of happiness that he and Sherlock sort of were an item now, being co-parents. “It was lucky happenstance. I think I still owe Mike a drink or two for that,” he added, raising his voice and looking at Mike on the other side of the room.

Mike raised his glass in return. “Happy to help, John.”

“Now if only you and Sherlock would get married, everything would be perfect,” Mrs. Hudson continued.

John was saved from the ensuing argument by Mike’s daughter and Greg’s son shyly asking to play with “the babies,” and John went in search of his errant co-parent.

He found Sherlock in his/the twins’ bedroom. “A bit much out there, isn’t it? Sorry, I didn’t realize everyone would be bringing their entire families with them. I guess they were just really excited for us.”

Sherlock turned away from his window, looking contemplative. “Do all of those people really care about me?”

“Well, you do tend to rub ‘em up the wrong way on occasion,” John said, half joking, “but yeah, they do. Did you doubt it?”

Sherlock shrugged. “When Moriarty and I were on the roof at Bart’s…” John winced. “He threatened you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. Said he had snipers trained on each of you; that they were ordered to shoot if I didn’t jump.”

John swallowed. It didn’t sound any better hearing about it a second time around. “I remember,” he managed. He sat down on the bed, and Sherlock joined him.

Sherlock’s face showed no emotion, save for a small tick near his jaw. He stared down at his hands. “He called the three of you my friends. I was too panicked at the time to pay him much heed, but his words echoed back many times in the year after, when I was the loneliest. He was right, the three of you were my friends. I mean, I knew _you_ were my friend by then, but I hadn’t admitted that Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were as well.”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to hear that, Sherlock.”

“And… Mike and Molly aren’t horrible either, most of the time. Even helpful on occasion. I might be able to add them to the circle.”

“Why Sherlock Holmes, that’s practically sentimental of you,” John teased lightly, bumping his friend with his shoulder.

Sherlock looked a bit panicked at the tease. “But no one else, alright? Five friends are more than enough. And I wouldn’t even call Mike and Molly close friends. More like, colleagues I don’t hate.”

“Of course.”

“And I still care for you far above everyone else.”

John smiled. “I know, Sherlock. You’re my best friend, too.”

Sherlock looked solemnly and a bit apprehensively at John. “John, I…”

John cursed the way his heart began to speed up.

“Thank you. For everything. Choosing this life. Our children. Thank you for saving me four years ago, and following after me ever since, when any sane person would have run screaming the other way. I’ll never be able to truly express how much it all means to me.”

John’s heart gave a final, painful thud, then began to slow back down. He thought Sherlock had meant to say something else, something he’d been longing to hear for almost as long as he’d known the mad detective. But of course not. Sherlock didn’t go in for romantic relationships. Or maybe he just didn’t go in for John. But John smiled and nudged Sherlock with his shoulder again, though he was unable to look his friend in the face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Me either.” Was it just John’s own emotions that had him imagining a waver in Sherlock’s tone? He needed to stop hoping. He and Sherlock were tied together for life now, through the children. It would be enough.

John stood up and cleared his throat. “Well, I should go check on our guests. You going to stay here?”

“I’ll be out in a mo’,” Sherlock replied, not moving from the bed.

John left the room, his previous good mood tempered by his stupid thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is so frakking sentimental. I love it; don't you?
> 
> Also, heh. "Errant co-parent." It's great when things rhyme.
> 
> I'll be getting Ch 8 and 9 up tomorrow, once I've wrestled them into submission.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parental titles are discussed, and John realizes he can't run anymore.

The topic of what John and Sherlock would be called by their children didn’t come up until Mina and Ian had been at Baker Street for three months. Greg was sat in their living room, having just finished going over some case notes with Sherlock, while John cleaned up dinner in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had brought up the oatmeal cookies she’d just baked (one of the few things Mina would eat unreservedly), and she was now sitting on the sofa, letting Ian “read” a book to her. Mina sat in Greg’s lap, studying his badge intently.

Sherlock was showing Greg the latest floor plans he’d drawn up for the flats. Floor plans that John was beginning to think would never become a reality. They’d fought for the first month on what exactly would go where, and Sherlock had spent the second month pouring over the plans, making minute changes, claiming it wasn’t perfect yet. They still had four months to get the lab out of the kitchen, but at this rate, they’d make it in just under the wire.

John finished up in the kitchen and came to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame, content just to watch the scene for a while. He never would have thought two years ago that this would be his life. He had still been grieving for Sherlock. He had been living in a boring flat, working at a boring job, and sleepwalking through life.

Then Sherlock had swanned back on the scene, waking John up. And a fateful accident landed them with two children they’d had no idea they’d wanted, but couldn’t imagine living without now that they were here. Sherlock and John were back to working with the Met, though they were much more careful about chasing criminals through the streets of London. John missed the chases at times, but he knew he’d miss his kids even more, so he considered it a fair trade.

John came into the room and sat down in his chair. Mina climbed off of Greg’s lap, padded over to John, and held her arms out. John picked her up and settled her in his lap. She burrowed in, and John hugged her close, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. Her curls were getting wilder than Sherlock’s. They’d have to make a trip to a salon soon. For the children _and_ Sherlock, lest John make good on his threats to put bows in both Sherlock’s and Mina’s hair.

Sherlock began rolling up the plans, unearthing a book Greg had brought the kids.

“Mina,” he said, picking up the book. “Show John the book Greg brought you.”

Mina’s eyes lit up, and she held out her hands for the book. She shoved it in John’s face. John pushed it down a bit so he could see the cover. “Did Uncle Greg bring you a detective story? Wasn’t that nice of him. Maybe if you ask really nicely, Sherlock will read it to you at story time.”

Mina nodded and held the book close.

“Do the kids really call you Sherlock and John?” Greg asked.

“What else would they call us?” Sherlock asked. “It is how we introduced ourselves to them.”

“Well, yeah, but that was when this was all temporary. But you’re their parents now. Shouldn’t they call you Daddy and Papa or something?”

Sherlock looked horrified at the thought, while John and Mrs. Hudson laughed. John really couldn’t picture Sherlock as the Daddy or Papa type.

Greg looked over at John’s laugh. “I can see Sherlock not wanting the labels, but you’re a bit more traditional.” Sherlock huffed in indignation. No one was allowed to call John anything in the range of “ordinary” besides him.

John shrugged. He’d had the fleeting thought, back when they first signed the adoption papers, but didn’t care about it enough to bring it up with Sherlock, who he knew would be against it. “They know us as Sherlock and John. Best not to confuse them by changing our monikers now, especially since Sherlock doesn’t like it.”

“You _do_ like it?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“I don’t really have an opinion,” John replied. “I mean, if they decide they want to call us something more parent-specific later, I won’t stop them. But I won’t require it either.”

Sherlock, who was currently obsessed with letting the children make their own choices, inclined his head in acceptance. “Good.”

Greg looked at them both bemusedly. “Your family, your choices,” he said with a shake of his head. He stood up. “Speaking of, I’ve got the kiddoes tonight. Best head home.”

John held Mina up so she could give Greg a noisy kiss goodbye. “Enjoy the new book, little lady.” She nodded happily and waved while John settled her back on his lap.

“Greg kiss me,” said Ian from the sofa.

“As if I could forget you, little man,” Greg answered. He walked over for the asked-for kiss.

“Bye-bye,” Ian replied, waving Greg out the door.

Mrs. Hudson left soon after, probably to enjoy a little peace and quiet while the kids were getting ready for bed. 221 would never be a quiet house, but it was definitely quieter around bedtime, and John didn’t begrudge anyone who wanted to take advantage of that.

ooOOoo

John was so used to the bedtime quiet that he went into full panic mode when he heard both children screaming as he entered the flat one evening a few weeks later. They’d put the children down, and John had remembered they were out of yogurt, which was one of the few things Ian would eat for breakfast, so he’d popped out to the shops to grab some.

He’d come home dripping wet, a rainstorm having begun just after he’d left the shop, without his umbrella, of course. He’d made a mad dash the last couple of blocks and opened the door just as lightning was followed quickly by a crack of thunder.

The children were in full scream mode by the time he made it up the stairs. He ran full tilt into the bedroom, more scared than he’d ever been in his life. What the hell was happening? Were the children alright? Was Sherlock?

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, both screaming children in his arms, rocking back and forth and trying to calm them.

“Oh, thank God,” John said, sagging against the doorframe in relief. His heart began to slow its terrified pitter patter. “I thought you’d been attacked.”

“The children seem to think so as well,” Sherlock said dryly. “Apparently they’re afraid of storms.”

He seemed simultaneously annoyed and fascinated with the idea. John knew Sherlock had not been exposed to too many children in his life, so he probably didn’t realize that people could be scared of storms. Well, except for John. And Sherlock had calmly explained that it was perfectly normal for war veterans to be startled by unexpected loud noises. This was the morning after John had apparently been very vocal in his dreams. He didn’t remember the storm at all, but vividly remembered the dream, where he’d been back in Afghanistan until the dream had morphed into The Pool and the semtex vest had exploded. In any case, Sherlock apparently didn’t know that some people found thunderstorms frightening.

John went to put the yogurt in the fridge and change his wet clothes before going back into the bedroom to take Ian from Sherlock.

“It’s alright, love. Just a little storm. Just a bit of noise. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s no worse than Sherlock’s experiments.” He kept whispering to Ian as he sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out. He’d had a busy day at the clinic and was quite tired. He thought he might go to bed as soon as they got the children back in their cots.

Sherlock joined him on the other side of the bed soon after, his own exhaustion evident in his body language. He’d been on a case with Dimmock for the past week, resolved only that morning, and John knew his friend had to be longing for his bed more than John was his.

“No, no. Storms aren’t for crying. Storms are for sleeping. Listen to the rain, Mina. Isn’t it comforting? Shhhh,” he murmured to their daughter, holding her close and stroking her hair. And John suddenly couldn’t stand how beautiful the man was.

Objectively, John had always known Sherlock held a certain physical appeal. Women loved to talk about it, until they realized John was around and apologized. Sherlock wasn’t traditionally good looking, but there was a beauty and charisma that many found attractive. But John had tamped down the worst of his physical attraction to Sherlock long ago, not letting himself think about it or the emotional attraction.

But here, backlit by the glow of a nightlight, holding and comforting their daughter while so exhausted John was surprised he didn’t topple over right then and there, John let himself see the beauty. And in that same moment, he realized he would never not be in love with this beautiful man. He couldn’t run. Not tonight, not ever. And not just because he had recently adopted two children with said man, but also because life without Sherlock was not a life worth living. He needed Sherlock like he needed the sun.

It was time he admitted that he couldn’t ignore it anymore. So what was he to do? Hiding it would only work for so long. Sherlock had managed to miss seeing John’s feelings for years, but John had a hunch that wouldn’t last much longer. Should he just tell Sherlock? Assure him that nothing had to change, but that John just wanted him to know so that he wouldn’t be alarmed when he eventually deduced it himself?

John must have been staring, because Sherlock turned his gaze on him. “John?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“I…nothing. Just, you’re an amazing parent.”

Sherlock gave him a weary smile, and how had John avoided this for so long? He had never felt like this for anyone in his life. Not for any of his girlfriends. Not one. And he’d fancied himself in love with at least three of them in his youth.

But the idea was bittersweet. He once again reminded himself that Sherlock didn’t do romance. Didn’t do love or sex or marriage. What they currently had was probably the deepest bond Sherlock was capable of having with another person. And part of John understood that. It was love, in its own way. It was probably Sherlock’s own version of romance. But it lacked the…well, the _romance_ of romantic love. The sparks John felt were one sided. He’d never be able to make Sherlock’s heart race like Sherlock could his. Right? He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

“John, I…” Sherlock began, but this time a yawn kept him from saying anything further.

“I’m fine, Sherlock. Just tired. Go to sleep.”

“The children….”

“Can sleep here tonight. They’ll feel safer.” Both Mina and Ian were mostly asleep by this point, whimpering, but sleeping.

“They might roll off the other side.”

“I’ll sleep here, too.”

“Okay,” Sherlock agreed sleepily.

“I’m going to close up the flat. I’ll be back in a few minutes, alright?”

“Alright,” Sherlock replied, halfway to sleep himself.

John laid Ian carefully on the bed, praying he wouldn’t awaken. He didn’t, and John was able to slip out of bed. He walked over to the other side, and pulled Mina from Sherlock’s slackening arms, laying her between her father and her brother. The three of them looked quite angelic like this, so peaceful and quiet. And while John’s chest swelled with love for his family, he knew he would love them fiercely in any state, even when they were at their most demonic.

John leaned over to press a kiss to each child’s head. Then, almost without thinking, smoothed the hair from Sherlock’s head and kissed him, too. It was only as he was moving away from the man that John realized that the action could be a bit not good.

John was just about to pull his hand away from Sherlock’s head when Sherlock turned and nuzzled his head into John’s hand. John froze for a moment, fearful Sherlock was about to awake, but the man just sighed and settled back to sleep. John let go of his partner’s head, then went to work at wiggling the bedclothes out from under the three Holmses and covered them up.

He turned out lights, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. When he got back to the bedroom, he found that he was no longer tired. Well, he was quite fatigued, but his brain had come fully online and refused to shut down now. He contemplated reading, but didn’t want to turn on the lamp, lest it disturb his sleeping bedmates. So he lay in bed, listening to the rain and wondering how to navigate his relationship with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Y'all just want them to get together already. Sorry! It will happen before the end of the story. I promise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes to a lovely sight, the twins visit their first crime scene, and Donavon objects (but then apologizes).

John woke to three pairs of eyes (two light green, one blue) staring at him. He’d been restless until about three AM, when his exhausted brain had finally shut down, and he’d slept like the dead after that. Sherlock lay on his side, head propped up on a hand, and the twins sat on the bed, leaning back against Sherlock’s stomach and chest.

“Well that’s not at all creepy,” John said in a sleep-roughened voice.

“I thought we should get out of bed and let you sleep, but the children insisted on waiting for you,” Sherlock said in a way that was meant to be careless but didn't fool John. He smiled warmly.

“Ahh. Well, for the good of the children…” John replied.

“We spoil them.” Sherlock was trying hard not to smile, but his face was soft and open.

“We are rather overindulgent parents, aren’t we?” John didn’t even attempt to hide his own grin.

The night had been difficult, and he hadn’t come to any real conclusions, but there was no way he could be upset after waking up to the faces of the three people he adored most. He could be happy with this. He _was_ happy with this. It was what he wanted and needed. It would be enough.

John reached out to bop Ian on the nose with a finger. “So, what are we going to do today?”

“Eat!” Ian proclaimed, unsurprisingly.

“Okay, that’s a good start.” John pushed himself to sitting, picked up Ian, and put him in his lap. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Eggs.”

John raised his eyebrows and glanced at Sherlock.

“That’s new,” was Sherlock’s dry reply.

“Will he eat eggs?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Don’t know until we try.”

Both twins ended up liking eggs, which made three foods now that everyone in the flat would eat, yogurt and oatmeal cookies being the other two.

After a successful breakfast, they decided to take a walk in the park. They had just bypassed the pond (“We are _not_ going to feed the ducks.” “You’re so adamant about not feeding the ducks. Could Sherlock Holmes be _afraid_ of ducks?” “Shut up.”) when Sherlock’s mobile rang.

It was apparently Greg ringing about a case. After a few minutes of conversation, Sherlock ended the call. “Strangulation. Several pieces of art taken. Probably not even a five, but it’s in the Outer Circle, so we can drop by on the way home.”

John was about to protest about taking the twins to a crime scene, but then realized that anyone with Sherlock’s DNA would likely be fascinated by the experience and so just decided to go with it. He could easily keep the kids out of the room of the murder if necessary.

“You can’t bring children to a crime scene,” Donovan protested when they arrived a few moments later.

“Mina and Ian, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan,” Sherlock said. “She’s not nice, so we should frown at her as often as possible.” He passed her by, and John followed with a nod.

“Boss!” Donovan hollered, stalking into the house behind them.

Greg glanced up from his phone with a look of surprise. “Should they really be here? They’re not even two.” He looked at John, expecting him to be the sane one. He really should’ve known better by then.

John shrugged. “Who am I to keep a Holmes from a crime scene.”

Sherlock turned and beamed at him. “This is why you’re my favorite person.”

A bit of the tension John had carried since the previous night loosened, and he smiled back. He could do this. This was good. His eyes followed his friend as Sherlock followed his nose to the scene of the murder.

“Not exactly an accolade coming from him,” Donovan muttered.

John didn’t let it get to him. He’d had plenty of practice ignoring barbs from various members of the Met. He walked through the house to stand by Sherlock, who was at the door of the room with the body.

John heard Greg bark at her from the front room. “Donovan, the perimeter.”

She sounded affronted. “But…”

“Now, Donovan.”

John could practically hear the scowl in her voice. “Yes, boss.”

“Who’s on forensics?” Sherlock asked, stepping into the room, carrying Mina with him. She stared wide-eyed at the number of people wandering the room, most covered in the disposable coveralls that Sherlock never bothered with.

“Delilah Garcia,” a petite, dark-haired woman said, walking up to Sherlock. “Just joined the team.”

“American,” Sherlock replied.

“Dual citizenship, but I spent most of my youth state-side, yes.”

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, probably cataloging a hundred things about her. He hummed in resignation, but John could tell that he approved. “You’ll do.”

She beamed at him. “From what I hear, that’s a ringing endorsement.” Then she went serious, glancing at Mina. “You really shouldn’t have a child here.”

Sherlock stiffened. “As the parent of said child, I believe it’s my right to say what is or is not appropriate for her to see.”

“She’ll contaminate the scene, much like you are, being in here without proper PPE,” the woman continued dryly.

Sherlock’s mouth gaped for a moment, and John had to work not to laugh. He was glad to have someone else on the team who didn’t let Sherlock walk all over her, but also wasn’t a complete arse to him. John looked over at Greg, who was just inside the door.

“Nice hire,” he told his friend.

Greg grinned. “And she’s an excellent forensic scientist.”

“What luck.” Then he called over to Sherlock. “Give her here. It’s almost nap time. I’ll leave you to fight about clothing.”

“John, this is ridiculous—“

“Sherlock,” John warned.

He sighed. “Fine.” Sherlock walked over with Mina. “I’ll probably be home in ten minutes anyway. I’m sorry this wasn’t a good crime scene, Mina. We’ll hope for better in the future.”

Mina nodded solemnly. Sherlock kissed her head, leaned over to kiss Ian’s, and, for second, John thought Sherlock might try to kiss John, too. Where the hell had _that_ idea came from? He needed to find a way to distance himself a bit.

John stopped himself from closing the gap between them after only a slight sway, not looking at Sherlock’s face, just in case the other man saw something. He transferred Ian to one arm, opening up his other to take Mina from Sherlock. John felt safe to look up once Mina was transferred. He pasted on a smile.

“See you in a bit?”

Sherlock nodded, eyes glancing back to the room. “I have most of it worked out. Shouldn’t take long to find the final details.”

“Show off,” John said affectionately.

“And yet, the only ones I want to show off for are leaving,” Sherlock replied, looking completely put out.

John ached for the lonely man Sherlock had been before they had met. He was glad that man no longer existed. “We will be your rapt audience upon your return.” He jiggled the children in his arms. “Say goodbye to Sherlock and Uncle Greg.”

The twins waved, and John walked down the hall to the front door. Donovan stood outside, still looking annoyed.

“So those are the kids, huh? I can’t believe you kept them.”

“Cheers,” John replied dryly. He started to pass by her.

“You shouldn’t have. You’re not exactly the parental types. Well, you sort of are, but he’s definitely not,” she added, nodding back toward the house. She’d finally stopped calling Sherlock “the freak” and mostly made do without calling him anything at all.

John bristled. “I admit it’s not a job I thought either one of us would go for, but what you believe to be true and what’s actually true when you’re faced with the situation are completely different. Sherlock’s done an amazing job, and, given that the twins do share his genes, he’s probably the only one who can truly understand them. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at Mina and Ian. He loves them and would do anything for them.”

Donovan glanced to the side, and John noticed Sherlock standing there. He nodded at his friend, then looked away, worried Sherlock might read his face too well. “Ready?”

Sherlock came up to John and took Ian from his arms. He looked contemplative. “Let’s go.”

John smiled at him, the tension leaving his body when Sherlock didn’t push the point. “Yeah.”

Sherlock walked down the path to the road, John stepping forward to follow, but Donovan stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Sorry,” she said to John quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m definitely not made for children, most people who do our job aren’t. But I have no doubt he loves them.”

John snorted. “I thought you thought he was incapable of love.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Once upon a time, yeah. But then he met you. And he looks at those kids the same way he looks at you.”

“Come along, John,” called Sherlock from the pavement. “Ian wants frozen yogurt.”

John looked from Donovan to Sherlock, chest clenching. For once, he wanted her words to be true. He wanted Sherlock to look at him with love and not just affection.

“You make a beautiful family, John. I’m happy for you,” Donovan said before turning and heading back to guard the front door.

John looked at Mina. “Well, you two are just changing people left and right, aren’t you?”

Knowing she’d been asked a question, Mina nodded.

John, for the hundredth time that day, pushed his feelings aside. “They really should be going down for their naps, Sherlock,” he called as he walked toward Sherlock and Ian.

“It’s a special day,” Sherlock replied.

John rolled his eyes. “First crime scene?” he asked dryly.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he said with a firm nod.

John sighed. “Well, I suppose we did decide we’re overindulgent parents, so why not?”

“Yogurt now,” Ian demanded.

“Yes, your highness,” replied John, then let his eyes narrow a bit. “But then, a nap.”

“No nap!”

“Yes nap.”

Ian shook his head and crossed his arms in that Sherlockian way of his.

“Ian, listen to your father. I know he can be prosaic, but sometimes it’s for your own good,” explained Sherlock, putting a hand behind John’s back to guide him down the street.

John tried not to think anything of it when Sherlock left it there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Sherlock was just using the twins as an excuse to gaze adoringly at a sleeping John. Oh godtopus, now I may have to right a short interlude from Sherlock's POV...Damn it!
> 
> Nothing to do at work means Meagan gets to edit early! We're almost there. Only one full chapter and then a short epilogue remain. If work continues to be boring, those will go up this afternoon/evening.
> 
> Up next: the end of the slow burn followed by some new arrangements.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renovation plans are finalized, and our boys finally (finally!) talk to one another.

A few afternoons later found Sherlock and John both at home (miraculously at the same time, which was rare with their busy schedules) and the children down for a nap. Sherlock was muttering over the renovation plans yet again while John sorted through cases in Sherlock’s inbox.

“My husband is three people,” he said half to himself, reading through an email.

“Hmmm?” Sherlock asked, not really paying attention.

“’My husband is three people’,” John said again, speaking louder. “It’s interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin…”

Sherlock gave a sound of disgust. “Identical triplets – one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat. Now stop reading through those ridiculous emails and look at this.”

John shrugged. Sherlock’s tolerance for the sillier cases had gone down quite a bit since the arrival of the twins. Four months in, and he still found their development fascinating. Which was probably a good thing, though sometimes John wondered if Sherlock felt stifled at all. But really, he shouldn’t wonder. If Sherlock was unhappy, he’d let the whole world know about it. John put away the laptop and went to stand over Sherlock’s shoulder. He peered at the plans. They looked much the same as they had for the past couple of months. Well, not quite.

“Hey, why is my room half sized all of a sudden?” John protested, taking in the changes. The most recent plans had called for the children to go up into John’s old room, Sherlock’s room and the kitchen to stay the same, then the living room to become John’s room. But that room had been halved, with the larger side labeled “play room” and the other side labeled “bedroom.”

Sherlock glanced up at John for a second before looking away again. He clenched his fists where they lay on top of the plans. He seemed nervous. “The nanny should have a room up here. If we’re both out at night…”

“Yeah,” John agreed slowly. It did make sense. If the nanny was there, then both he and Sherlock were out, which meant someone needed to be sleeping in the same part of the building as the twins, and it would be strange to have the nanny in one of their bedrooms, John supposed. But he felt hurt by the change all the same. He had grown used to the idea of all of them sleeping near each other, but moving his bedroom down to the basement area would separate him from everyone else. Was Sherlock trying to push him away? Had he done something to make the man angry? He’d acted fine all morning. Happy, even, ever since the boring crime scene a few days earlier.

“Do you not want me…?” How was John even supposed to pose the question? Did Sherlock not want John in his life anymore? Not in their children’s lives? They were legal co-parents. He couldn’t just kick John out. Well, divorce happened all the time, so John supposed he _could_. But why? Had his recently revived feelings scared Sherlock off?

“No!” Sherlock said, whipping around to face John rather than looking at him over his shoulder.

Something in his face made John relax, though he was still bothered by it all. “Oh, so it’s just a practicality thing? I get it. Yeah, the nanny should have a sleeping area. The children will be fine with you here, or I can sleep on your bed if you’re out…”

“That’s not what I…I thought that…” Sherlock shook his head. “I’m doing this in the wrong order, aren’t I? I thought it might be nice, telling you like this. Like a present, I suppose? But I can’t make decisions without talking to you first. We can’t have another Fall on our hands…”

The bottom dropped out of John’s stomach. “You’re leaving us?” No. No. Sherlock couldn’t do that. He had _promised_. He’d said he would never—He couldn’t do—

John’s breathing increased. He felt dizzy and nauseous. Sherlock must have figured out John’s feelings for him. He’d been too bloody obvious, hadn’t he? He’d tried…

“John. John.” John heard Sherlock’s voice as if from far away. “John, you need to calm down. Damn it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I thought it would be a nice surprise, that it would be rom—” John heard him chuckle. “I’m an idiot.” Deep breath. “John, you need to sit down.” John felt himself being led to the sofa. Sherlock pushed him to seated before settling right next to him.

“Do you need to put your head between your knees?”

John took a shaky breath. Sherlock didn’t sound like he was going to leave them. That was good. Apparently Sherlock had just had a good idea that he wanted to share with John and had gone about it a bit badly. Everything was fine. No need to panic. John looked over at his friend, surprised to find that Sherlock was clasping the back of John’s neck gently, slightly rubbing a calming thumb up and down.

“No.” It came out a bit cracked, so John cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I’m fine now. What did you want to tell me?”

Sherlock gave John a fond smile. Something in it made John’s breath catch, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. He couldn’t look at his best friend like a lovesick teenager. If Sherlock hadn’t figured things out already, he would soon. John really needed to tell Sherlock.

“You came to a conclusion recently, didn’t you? The night of the storm?”

The bottom dropped out from John’s stomach. Oh God, no. Sherlock _had_ figured it out. Damn it.

“I…” was all John managed, quickly looking away from his friend’s face.

Sherlock chuckled softly. “I thought as much.”

“Look, I know it’s weird, but I promise, nothing has to change,” John said quickly. “I won’t let it get in the way of raising the kids with you. But I…I understand why you want me to move to the basement. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

“Were you lying when you said that to me the first time?” Sherlock asked.

John glanced up and away quickly. Sherlock didn’t seem upset. But then again, he didn’t process emotions like everyone else did. He had them, sure, but he looked at them differently than most. Maybe he really wasn’t bothered by it, if John promised to keep on as they had been. “What?” John asked, realizing Sherlock had asked him a question.

“Our first dinner together. At Angelo’s. You were trying to ask me out. You used those same words on me then. ‘It’s all fine.’”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, John. I know you’re not a homophobic git. I meant, you weren’t fine with my shutting you down, were you? You were interested even back then.”

“I…”

Sherlock chuckled again. “Why is it so hard for us to talk about feelings, John? We’re best friends. We shouldn’t resort to silences and jokes every time emotions are involved.”

“We’re English.”

“True.” Sherlock continued to rub John’s neck. It felt nice. Very nice. More than nice. Why was he doing it? To let John down easy? Sherlock had been different since he’d come back. More willing to accept help, a bit more open. So was this touching thing just another part of that? Sherlock had been faced with a year of isolation after making his first friends, and now he was more willing to deal with things openly? That was good, wasn’t it? Sherlock was right. They were both emotionally constipated, unwilling to talk about their feelings. If he was ready to face them head on, maybe he could help John do the same. All John wanted was for Sherlock to be happy.

“You’re my best friend, though, John.” And here it came: the letdown. John steadied himself. “We’re raising two children together. We’re choosing to put down roots in a house together. As difficult as it is, we have to learn to talk.”

John gripped his knees, staring at the floor. He could do this. They would be fine. They’d go on just as they always had, but with a bit more talking.

“I love you, John Watson.”

For a minute, John let himself think that Sherlock meant _in_ love. He wanted to pretend, for just a moment, that Sherlock had romantic feelings for John, too. Then he took a breath, his voice only a bit shaky. “Well, that’s good, innit? I am your best friend. It wouldn’t do for you to hate me, would it?” John tried to smile and look up. He didn’t quite make it to Sherlock’s face.

“No, John. I…” Sherlock pulled his hand away.

John felt the loss instantly. He closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock stand up and heard him move around the room. Distancing himself. That was probably a good thing. John took another breath. Then he felt Sherlock settle on the sofa once more. His knee and elbow brushed John’s. John opened his eyes to see Sherlock spreading the renovation plans on their laps.

“Look.” Sherlock pointed at the plans.

“I already saw them, Sherlock. I get it. You’re uncomfortable and want me to move down to the basement.”

“You stupid man,” Sherlock said softly. But he didn’t sound mean. He sounded fond. “You see, but you do not observe.” He pointed at the area on the sheet where his own room was. “ _Look_.”

“Sherlock, I…” John looked at where Sherlock’s finger pointed and stopped talking. What had once been labeled “Sherlock’s Room” now read “John and Sherlock’s Room.” John felt his stomach jump and his heartbeat quicken. He licked his lips, looked up at Sherlock’s face, then back down at the plans. Did he mean…? Really?

John looked back up at Sherlock again. He was smiling and looked…peaceful. Happy. Glowing? John huffed. In love. Sherlock looked like he was in love. Oh.

“You… _love_ me.”

Sherlock sighed in mock exasperation. “Finally, he twigs,” he said, but he still had that fond smile on his face. “Yes, I love you, you idiot.”

Holy hell. Sherlock Holmes was in love with John Watson. John felt like he could lift a car, jump a ten-story building, or maybe just do a dance routine in the street. Sherlock _loved_ him. Which meant John was free to love him back.

He opened his mouth, but before he could even think of a good response, Sherlock cupped John’s face gently in his hands and looked at him with a loving expression. John felt his heart melt. “Shut up. I’m going to kiss you now.”

Since John was in agreement with this action, he wisely stayed silent and leaned in. The kiss was soft, a bit tentative. Sherlock’s first? John didn’t know. He’d never been able to get a straight answer out of the man. It didn’t matter. It was _their_ first kiss, and it was heavenly. Of course, John ruined it by grinning like a lunatic.

“What?” Sherlock asked, pulling back. “You’re interrupting a perfectly lovely kiss, you know.”

“ _You_ love _me_ ,” was all John said. Still grinning.

“And _you_ love _me_ ,” Sherlock replied, sounding a bit exasperated for real now. “Yes, we’ve gone over this. Now can we go back to—”

“I do love you.” John couldn’t stop grinning as he nuzzled his nose into Sherlock’s neck, breathing him in. This was…amazing. Brilliant. Aces, really. He felt light. Like he could breathe properly for the first time in months. Maybe this talking about feelings lark wasn’t so bad. _Granted, it helps a lot when the other person figures everything out and just confronts you with it,_ John thought wryly.

“Now that that’s settled, can we—”

“You want me to move in with you,” John continued, loving the look of annoyance on Sherlock’s face when John pulled back to look at him. Hey, just because they were in love didn’t mean they’d stop annoying each other. If anything, they’d find new and inventive ways to annoy each other. It would be amazing. John swallowed a giggle.

“We already live together, John. I’m just suggesting some rearranging. Although if you’re going to continue to talk rather than—”

John finally caved. Enough teasing for now. “The kids should nap for another twenty minutes,” he said to his…Sherlock? Whatever. They’d work on labels later.

Sherlock frowned. “Yes, what does that have—oh.” He grinned.

“I think I need to try out your room. See if I like it.”

Sherlock looked slyly at John. “Oh?”

John stood up. “And it’s not going to be an accurate survey if you’re not in there with me.” He held out a hand, which Sherlock stared at for a heated moment before grinning again.

“Very wise, John Watson. But whatever will we do in there?”

John pulled Sherlock close for another kiss, and another, and another before tearing himself away to tug Sherlock to the bedroom. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, y'all were hoping for marriage or at least a proposal. I feel like I've failed you. Please don't hate me! Now I know how Moftiss feel... I just felt it didn't fit in with the story. They do act very married, though, so I've not left you completely out in the cold. ;-)
> 
> That's it for the main story. There's a short epilogue to zip things up nicely, then we're done! Except not, because the plot bunny attacked and I'm now writing an interlude from Sherlock's perspective that takes place the night of the storm. I've made this part of a series, so feel free to subscribe if you want to know when that gets posted.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins have a birthday, Mina reaches another milestone, and Sherlock shares a bit more about his original plan.

John collapsed on the sofa. The twin’s birthday party had been crazy and loud, which was what John expected when it came to two-year-olds and cake and lots of friends and family, but it had been worth it. Sherlock had been able to show off the newly renovated basement lab and living room, the twins had consumed way too much sugar and received more toys and books than they needed, and John had been with the people he loved most. It was perfect.

He stirred from his thoughts when he heard the stairs creak. Sherlock and his mother had taken the children upstairs for baths while John and Sherlock’s father had cleaned up party detritus. They must be coming back down to say goodnight.

A moment later, he heard Ian singing out “Jooooohhhhn,” which was quickly followed by Sherlock, Marianne, and the twins appearing in the room. Ian ran over to John and climbed on his lap. “Story time,” he said, snuggling against John’s chest.

“Oh, is it?” John teased, tickling Ian in the side. “Are you sure you need a story tonight?”

Ian giggled and nodded. “Please.”

Sherlock settled on the sofa next to John, Mina in his lap. “Your turn to pick, Mina,” Sherlock said, pulling over the basket of books that resided under the coffee table. They would need a bookshelf before long, with the number of books they were accumulating.

“ _Rosie Revere_ , please.” John’s heart thudded. Had Mina just spoken? He let out a laugh, looked at Mina, then up at Sherlock.

Sherlock gave John an “I told you so” look, but then he beamed. “Is that your favorite?” Sherlock questioned, pulling out said book.

Mina nodded. “She likes to ‘speriment, like me and Ian.”

As predicted by Sherlock, Mina took to talking in one fell swoop, her grammar already more advanced than Ian’s.

John heard a laugh and looked at Harold and Marianne, sitting in chairs on the other side of the room. “Just like Sherlock,” Marianne said fondly. “So stubborn about speaking, but when he finally did, nothing less than perfect would do.”

Sherlock got that look he often wore when his mother talked about his childhood, a mix between embarrassed sulking and utter arrogance. “Yes, well done, Mina. Let’s read now.” He opened up the book, and Mina’s newest skill wasn’t talked about for the rest of the evening.

Once the children were in bed and Sherlock’s parents tucked away in the guest room in the basement, John and Sherlock went to their own room. Sherlock sighed. “Thank God this day is over. I love our children, but I don’t understand why we need to have people over to celebrate every milestone of theirs. It’s much better when it’s just the four of us.” He pouted as he undressed.

John chuckled, gave Sherlock a quick kiss, then went to brush his teeth. The day had been a good one, but John was definitely ready for some alone time with his family.

“You did very well today,” John complimented around his toothbrush. “Minimal hiding and grumbling.”

Sherlock preened as he joined John in front of the mirror. “For our children. And you.”

John smiled softly. “I know. Thank you.”

They got into bed after their evening ablutions were complete, and it was John’s turn to sigh. “I’m knackered.”

“Does that mean we don’t need to have a Christmas party?” Sherlock asked hopefully, snuggling into John’s side.

John chuckled. “Nice try, but no, we’re still having a Christmas party.”

“But parties exhaust you.”

“And Mrs. Hudson will tan our hides if we don’t have one. It won’t be big. Just her and Greg’s family and Molly.”

Sherlock huffed. “Fine. Whatever keeps Granny Hudders happy.” Sherlock was very much delighted with the name the twin’s used for their landlady and had taken to using it himself.

John’s thoughts turned to the different versions of family they had in their life, which reminded him of Emilia. His heart ached that the twins would never know their birth mother. He knew they were happy, and that Sherlock and he were enough for the children, but thinking of Emilia always made him a little sad.

He didn’t realize he’d sighed until Sherlock squeezed the arm he had around John’s waist. “Why are you suddenly sad?”

John shrugged. “Just sad that Mina and Ian will never know Emilia.”

“We provide all the love and comfort they could possibly need, John. They’ll be fine.”

“I know. Just…it’s always sad when a life is cut short. She had this whole life planned out, and it was taken away too soon. She wanted children so much, and then…”

Sherlock kissed John’s head. “I know.” They lay in silence for a few moments, allowing the melancholy mood to stay for a while. Then Sherlock shifted. “John. I…”

John pulled away a bit, knowing that Sherlock was about to say something serious and wanting to see his face. He waited for his partner to continue.

“There’s something you should know. I never knew quite how to say it, but…”

John let Sherlock gather his thoughts. He so rarely was at a loss for words. This must be important. He wasn’t worried, though. He no longer panicked anytime Sherlock broached a serious subject, worried that Sherlock was leaving them. He knew Sherlock loved him and their children and would never, ever abandon them if it was within his power to stay.

Sherlock finally continued. “I told you I had stipulations for whoever used my sperm, yes?”

“Your correspondence with Emilia, yes,” John said.

“There was more.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I’ve been in love with you for so long now, I don’t know when it actually began. Probably when you shot the cabbie.” He smirked at John, then continued. “When I decided to donate sperm, I wanted more than just progeny. I wanted them to have a little of you, too.” John opened his mouth to ask if Sherlock had somehow acquired some of John’s sperm as well, but Sherlock cut him off. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. If there are mini Johns out there in the world, that’s all on you.” John huffed, but said nothing. “I just…had a fit of sentimentality. I stipulated that the woman who would use my sperm should share certain…characteristics with you. I guess I wanted to pretend, just a bit, that the children were ours, even if we never got to meet them.”

Sherlock looked a bit embarrassed by his admission, but John felt warmth bloom in his chest at the words. He knew Sherlock loved him. Adored him. But this level of sentiment showed a side of Sherlock John had yet to encounter. Three years ago, Sherlock had already wanted to have a family with John. John pulled Sherlock close again.

“That’s lovely, Sherlock. Thank you for telling me.”

“It doesn’t—it doesn’t bother you? It’s not too weird?”

John chuckled. “Since when does Sherlock Holmes care about being weird?”

“I always care what you think, John.”

John kissed Sherlock softly. “I’ve loved you for a long time, too,” John said quietly. “You’re amazing and brilliant and you care so much. And yes, you’re weird. But you’re my kind of weird, and I wouldn’t change you for all the world.”

Sherlock hummed in contentment.

John’s thoughts wandered. “So,” he finally said. “Emilia’s coloring and the fact that she was a doctor were not coincidences, then?”

“What do we say about coincidences, John?” Sherlock asked reprovingly.

“The universe is rarely so lazy,” John replied with a giggle. “I love you.”

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock replied arrogantly. “This sentiment is all lovely, but I’m done now. Can we have sex?”

John laughed and rolled them over so he was on top of Sherlock.

“As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! I hope it was soppy enough for you. ;-) 
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading and enjoying this little bit of fluff I thought up. I appreciate the comments and kudos. Stay tuned for the interlude, coming...hopefully this week? We'll see.
> 
> **Edit**  
> The side story I've mentioned several times is now up! You go straight to it at the link below. I hope it's worthy of this main story. :-D
> 
> Also editing to say thank you so much for all the lovely comments. I'm so happy y'all are all enjoying this story.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at vateacancameos.tumblr.com. I don't bite, I promise.


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